Dimensions of Fate
by desperate.for.love
Summary: AU. Quinn can remember a time before Westerville, before Crawford, and even though she tries so desperately to forget Quinn will always remember what it was like to be Lucy. Quaine and eventual Klaine.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is extremely AU, some characters may seem OOC and this fic will not follow canon at all, it will evantually become very dark and explore mature themes, for that reason it has been rated M.

Spoilers: up to 2x18 "Born This Way"

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Even though her life is one God damned cliché, Quinn Fabray really doesn't have much to complain about, she has everything she could want and more. She lives in the perfectly manicured suburban paradise of Westerville, Ohio, her parents are happily married and the cash flow is high enough to pay for her private school education at Crawford Country Day and maintain their upper middle class lifestyle. Everything seems to be peachy keen and just about perfect.

But when Quinn sits down to really think about it, she can remember a time before Westerville, and Crawford, a time before she was Quinn Fabray: this ideal all American daughter. Especially at night, right before she drifts off to sleep in her pretty yellow room on Washington Street, the room with the window seat, she remembers Lima and Warren G. Harding Middle School, she remembers the library and devouring books about the magical adventures of a bespectacled boy, and when being "Quinn Fabray" was a distant dream and everything about her life was a miserable cliché instead of a phoney one. She remembers, the memories faded and grainy like old movies, when she was walked the hallways trying to stay invisible, when she dissected her frog alone and she was treated like a leper. And even though she tries so desperately to forget, Quinn will always remember what it was like to be Lucy.

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><p>Lucy Fabray's preteen years were like the ones out of those cheesy Disney Channel movies, except no fairy godmother –esque best friend made her beautiful in a 5 minute makeover sequence by just brushing her hair and removing her glass and then BAM PRESTO she was prom queen material and the handsome football player, or a jock of a similar sport came to his senses and escorted her to the dance and the horrid popular girl that made her life a living hell got what she deserved. No, it wasn't quite like that at all. For Lucy, that happy climactic ending to the movie that was her life never came. She woke up every morning, but on her glasses and frumpy hand me downs that looked like they belonged to a Saturday morning re run of the Mickey Mouse Club and threw her fuzzy auburn hair into a pony tail so she could tackle the living hell that was Warren G Harding Middle School.<p>

To say that school was a living hell was just a tad bit of an overstatement, sure all the popular kids led by Santana Lopez and her cronies, had ganged up on the chubby new girl that lived splat in the middle of the boundary line that separated Warren G. Harding from Belleville. Yet after about a month of teasing and name calling - the boys, especially Noah Puckerman and David Karofsky, were quite fond of calling her Lucy Caboosey whenever they saw her - eventually died down a month and a half later. The occasional snicker or obvious whisper came Lucy's way every now again, but the being the constant center of attention had come to a halt and became replaced by isolation. Lucy didn't mind it, being alone, not really. It was better than being tormented by Santana and Noah, whose latest target was a girl named Rachel Berry. Lucy wondered why they picked on Rachel, maybe it was the frumpy t-shirts that read the names of various musicals paired with short skirts and Mary Janes, or maybe it was because her nose seemed awfully big for her face or that all she talked about was how good she was a singing, dancing and just about everything else. Lucy had felt bad for her. She really did. Lucy thought that maybe they could be friends. They seemed to have a lot in common, Lucy didn't really know much about clothes , especially since all she got were hand me downs from her sister Frannie and cousins, her nose was big too, and even though it was a long time ago she remembered really liking the musical about the witch from the Wizard of Oz her grandmother took her to 3 years ago and she liked to sing in the church choir with her youth group. But after trying to talk to her for about 5 minutes Lucy realized why Santana and Brittany wrote mean things about her on the bathroom stalls and why Noah (even though they were both of the Jewish faith, and her parents had always told her that sharing faith was like a sacred bond) she didn't blame him for not being able to stand her anymore

Rachel Berry was selfish, big headed and a know-it-all, and Lucy certainly did not want to be Rachel Berry's friend anymore. Lucy told herself she wasn't disappointed, that her heart hadn't sunk in her chest as she walked away from Rachel in the crowded cafeteria as quickly as she could, that she had never really wanted to be Rachel's friend at all. It wasn't as if she imagined this perfect little friendship they would have had, helping each other with homework, talking on the phone, going to the park, having slumber parties where they braided each other's hair and stayed up late giggling and talking about how cute Finn Hudson was even though he was a bit stupid, and that Noah would've been really handsome if he was just nicer. How they could have gone on several trips to the mall to look at the trendy clothes in the display windows and try them on, but give up because they felt ridiculous lacked patience and curves so they would just go to the book store instead. Lucy would have told Rachel all about the Harry Potter book series and get her to be just as obsessed as she was and Rachel could help her with singing; Even though her Pastor and the choir director from youth group told her she has a lovely voice. They could have sung together, maybe if Lucy was brave enough join the small music club at school and audition for plays. But that wasn't going to happen, and it wasn't as if Lucy ever thought about it much anyways.

After that disaster Lucy opted away from trying to find a friend, after all, there weren't any girls left to choose from that would even give her the time of day. So she veered toward the one friend that would never reject her; literature. For as long as she could remember Lucy loved book, words and stories were like her own personal drug. She devoured anything she could get her hands on, she loved to lose herself in the worlds of make belief, it made the long hours of the day go by just a bit faster and the need to continue breathing just a little bit easier.

As literature was her true and faithful friend, the home in which it lived was Lucy's haven. During the time she wasn't in class, the school library was her own secret paradise. Since barely any of the student and Harding Middle School cared much for reading or books Lucy had the place to herself. She was there at lunch time, tucked away in the comfy blue armchair closest to the window eating her ham and cheese sandwich, Le Morte D'Arthur opened on her lap.

"That's a difficult read," said a kind voice.

Lucy looked up from her book; to see the librarian. Even though Lucy had been in the library nearly every day at lunch for about 2 months now (after the Rachel Berry Friendship Disaster), Mrs. Schuster had never really spoken to her, or actually been around. (According to rumours, her husband was in rehab for a drinking problem, but you didn't hear it from Judy Fabray). The first thing Lucy noticed about her was her eyes, they were blue and her face was kind.

"I like a challenge I guess," Lucy responded quietly. She really wanted to get back to reading, King Arthur had just found out about Guinevere's affair with Lancelot, and she really wanted to find out what was going to happen.

Mrs. Schuster smiled warmly at her. "Tell me what you think of it when you finish. I could help you find something similar if you like it,"

"Ok," Lucy replied dumbly at her as Mrs. Schuster walked back to her place at the front desk.

As soon as 3 o'clock hits Lucy shoots out of the school like a lightning bolt and runs home as fast as she can. She stays up way past the time she usually goes to sleep and she finishes the book. By the time the final battle at Camlan is happening her eyes are beginning to droop. Lucy pinches herself and keeps reading, because it's a good story and she can't put it down, not because she wants to talk to Mrs. Schuster again and ask for another book, and most certainly not because Mrs. Schuster is the first person at that school to start a conversation with her, or even so much as looked at her with kind eyes. It's not because of that at all.

Even though Lucy's dead tired the next day and practically falls asleep in math, she's wide awake with excitement as she marches in to the library, lunch box in one hand and Le Morte D'Arthur in the other. Lucy slaps the book down on the front desk.

"Hello Lucy," greets Mrs. Schuster cheerily emerging from the back room. "How's the book going?"

"I finished it," Lucy states triumphantly with a smile.

Mrs. Schuster looks a little shocked, but she smiles again. "That's excellent Lucy!," she exclaims. "If you come over here I could show the fantasy selection we have,"

The librarian points to a row of shelves on the right side of the library. Lucy follows behind her, a bounce in her stride, as Mrs. Schuster prattles on about a book series about rings, elves and mystical creatures. Whatever it is that started that day becomes a routine. Mrs. Schuster would recommend Lucy a book, and Lucy would read the book as fast as she could, whenever she could, in class, at lunch, at home, everywhere. Scanning the array of words, absorbing every last bit of information so when she went back to the library the next time she and Mrs Schuster would talk about it, the plot, the characters, symbolism, likes and dislikes, all while Mrs. Schuster would help her pick out another. Soon "another book" became two, then three and then a stack. By the beginning of December Lucy was reading almost 4 books a week.

"Mrs. Schuster?" Lucy asks the day before the 2 week winter break was due to start, it was lunch period and Lucy and Mrs. Schuster were tucked in the back left corner in arm chairs sipping hot chocolate that the librarian had brought that morning in a thermos. Lucy had her biology text book in her lap, she had a test last period and Mrs. Schuster had Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in her hand, she felt the need to refresh her memory since whenever magic came up in a conversation Lucy chattered on a mile a minute about the series.

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Schuster replied, setting the book down on the table beside her hot chocolate. Lucy was staring at her inquisitively, her thick glasses sliding down her nose revealing a stunning pair of green eyes.

"Mrs. Schuster I was wondering, if you, if you wanted," Lucy stumbled over her words, although quiet, Lucy was well spoken and articulate.

"Yes Lucy?"

"Are we friends?" Lucy blurted out. Her face flushing a deep shade of pink. "I'm only asking, well because, I've never really had a friend before, and this is usually what friends do, at least that's what books say, even though kids are usually friends with kid not their mentors but since we do what friends do and talk about books and I wondering if we were friends?"

Being a woman who worked with kids all her life, had an alcoholic husband and a musically inclined son who was married to his mentally unstable high school sweetheart, Marianne Schuster had heard several startling things in her life, and it took quite a bit to leave her speechless, but she couldn't quite find the right words to say. She looked at Lucy, who out of all the young girls she had come across in her years as an educator she had never met a little girl who warmed her heart as much as Lucy Fabray did. Marianne knew Lucy was special the second she came marching into the library, her eyes shining bright and with one of the most difficult books in the school not only completed but thoroughly understood. Lucy was intelligent and kind, and although she was quiet and reserved at first glance, once she got talking she was bright and witty and so full of life it made Marianne's heart swell in her chest. As much as she adored Lucy and enjoyed her company, she shouldn't be there. She should be in the cafeteria with a table full of friends, laughing and enjoying herself like any other 12 year old girl, but Lucy wasn't like any of the other girls at school, so caught up in the modern materialistic lifestyle that they read about in magazines. Not only did she know that Lucy would never fit in with those girls, whose minds were contantly filled with superficial beauty.

Lucy's clothes were simple, yet always a little too big or too small, she never wore any make up or did much with her hair except wear it tied back, and even if she wanted to, the Fabray's would never have been able to afford it. Gossip travelled fast in a town as small as Lima, and everyone knew that Russell Fabray had to work double over time and his wife had 2 jobs to make ends meet and send their elder daughter to Princeton.

"Of course we're friends, Lucy," Marianne replied as Lucy's unsure expression became a smile. "And because you're my friend Lucy, I decided to get you this," Marianne revelaed a green gift bag from behind her arm chair.

The young girl's eyes widened with shock. "You didn't need to get me anything Mrs. Schuster, I, I would have gotten you something too," Said Lucy flustered as she accepted the shiny green bag.

Lucy put her hand in the bag and took out a black leather bound journal with _Lucy Quinn Fabray_ in scripted in gold script in the lower left hand corner.

"It's beautiful," Lucy said in awe as she examined the journal, running her hand over the crisp blank pages.

"I thought, since you loved to read so much, you might want to write stories of your own," said Marianne warmly. "Mr. Malkin says you're a fantastic writer,"

Lucy placed the journal carefully back inside the green gift bag and looked up at Mrs. Schuster, her lip began to quiver just a bit, her eyes glazing over. "Thank you," she said, her voice just a whisper of a breath.

"Oh, come here, Lucy,"

Mrs. Schuster took Lucy into her arms and hugged her. Their moment was interrupted by the buzzing of the school bell which signalled the end of the lunch break. Reluctantly, Marianne let Lucy shimmy out of the hug to grab her bag and the Christmas present.

Lucy swallowed thickly as she removed her glasses to wipe away the last of her tears. "Bye Mrs. Schuster, have a good holiday and thank you again," Lucy began to walk out of the library.

Marianne watched her walk out, clutching the gift bag desperately in her hand.

"Lucy,"

"Yes, Mrs. Schuster?"

Marianne paused, observing the small girl, her green eyes still wet and anxious. "Merry Christmas Lucy,"

"Merry Christmas Mrs. Schue,"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Lucy Fabray practically skipped into Warren G. Harding Middle School the first day back after winter break. The past 2 weeks had been the best she had all year. Even though Frannie hadn't been able to come down from New Jersey, both of her parents had been home for the entire break. For the first time in months they had all been able to sit together in the small living area of the small apartment and just be together. Judy on the sofa reading her celebrity magazine, every so often prattling on about local gossip or about what was discussed at her Christian Women's League meeting, Russell in his old green arm chair sipping on his whiskey offering his opinion to his wife's chatter and Lucy sitting at his feet, a book in her lap, half listening to her parent's conversation and humming under her breath to the songs that played on her dad's old jazz and soul records that could be heard softly in the background.

Although their Christmas wasn't lavish a chalked full of presents and even though they hadn't been able go and visit her grandparent's in West Virginia, Lucy had been more than content on Christmas morning waking up to the smell of pancakes and bacon wafting through the door of her bedroom. As she had walked slowly to the kitchen and smiled to see her parents dancing around the small kitchen as her dad sang along with his Bing Crosby Christmas records slightly out of tune. It had been a long time since Lucy saw her parents look so happy in the same room. After church, where Lucy had sung a solo of _Silent Night_ with the youth group choir and opening the few presents that lay under the tree in the living room; Lucy had received a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble from her dad, a forest green dress from her mom for Sundays and a blue sweater from that store that stunk of its perfume and had a moose on it from her grandparents. The latter of the day, the three Fabray's spent the remainder of the day curled up in front of the TV watching _A White Christmas_ and all the other Christmas movies that played throughout the day.

The rest of holidays had gone by happily and without interruption, but much to Lucy's disappointment, the day she was due back at school her mother had scheduled her long overdue appointments to the eye doctor and the orthodontist. Lucy had grumbled to herself in the car because she wanted to talk to Mrs. Schuster about the books she had read over the past two weeks and ask what she should get with the gift her daddy had gotten her. But Lucy's disappointment soon turned to joy as she left her orthodontist appointment retainer free, thanks to her meticulous care of her teeth and the optometrist with the promise that sometime next year, if her parents could afford it, she could get contact lenses.

Although by the time the appointments were done, the school day was practically over, Lucy; nonetheless, skipped over to Harding Middle School, hoping to catch Mrs. Schuster before she left, but by the time she got there, the library door was locked. In light of her discovery Lucy realized that in the midst of her excitement, she hadn't even gotten the chance to look at her teeth. She quickly made her way to the bathroom on the left hand side of the second floor. The place where Lucy had retreated during lunch hour before discovering the joys of the library, none of the toilets worked and the doors of the stalls never locked, making it a great hiding place to escape the taunts and jeering of the cafeteria. Lucy suddenly stopped a few paces from the door, she heard a a noise coming from inside the bathroom from the silence of the hallway.

Lucy slowly opened the door enough to stick her ear in the opening, and the voice, which is singing, becomes clear. Even though Lucy is positive she knows the song, her brain is too busy processing what she's hearing. The voice is high, pure and delicate and the only word that comes to Lucy's brain is _angel._

_Losing love I guess I've lost_

_Well if that's love_

_It comes at much too high a cost_

_I'd sooner buy_

_Defying gravity_

_Kiss me goodbye_

_I'm defying Gravity_

When she finally pokes her head in to see who it is and Lucy's jaw drops promptly to the floor. It's a boy. Although tall in stature, he's as thin as a rail. His dark smooth hair contrasts sharply against his pale skin, startlingly blue eyes and dark pink lips. Much like his voice and build, his face is delicate, practically feminine. Lucy would usually words like handsome to describe a boy, but this boy's obvious good looks were not at all masculine, they were ethereal and fairylike, like the elves and sylphs that existed in the bedtime stories of Lucy's childhood.

"_Pretty,"_ Lucy breathes, she lets the bathroom door shut silently behind her as she continues to watch the angelic boy sing into a hair brush at his reflection, the music of his headphones blasted so loud that Lucy could faintly hear it under his voice.

_I'd sooner buy_

_Defying Gravity_

_Kiss me goodbye_

_I'm defying gravity_

_I think I'll try _

_Defying Gravity_

_And you won't bring me down_

_Bring me down_

_Oh oh oh_

There's a silent pause for just a moment as the final powerful note fades away.

"That was beautiful,"

The boy spins around, his hairbrush clanging to the floor, his eyes wide and round like saucers.

"Your voice, it's incredible, it's amazing, I've never heard anyone sing like that, especially a boy," Lucy begins to babble on, a bad habit she had a hard time controlling.

"Aren't you going to scream or something?"

Lucy stops rambling and looks at the boy, his face is flushed pink, blue eyes studying her intently.

"Why would I do that?" Lucy asks genuinely confused.

"Well, this is the girl's washroom, and if didn't notice already, I'm clearly not a girl," he said matterofactly, his long pale hand gesturing to his body.

"But it's not as if anyone ever comes to this bathroom anyways, and besides, school's over," Lucy replied.

"Yea, it is," the boy began slowly. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," Lucy quipped back, raising her eyebrows.

"Well, if you must know, I was practicing, as if it wasn't obvious enough,"

Lucy furrowed her eyebrows together. "Why are practicing in a school washroom? Can't you do it at home?"

The ethereal boy looked taken aback for a moment at Lucy's simple question.

"I- I I already practice a lot at home, and I didn't want to disturb my dad, he's really tired after work,"

Although Lucy was naïve in many cases, she could sense when she was being lied to. Years of being lied to by her parents when she asked if they were alright when the mail came and observing her peers in silence, Lucy was very perceptive, a gift she was proud of.

Lucy gave the boy a knowing look. "So you're telling me your dad doesn't like to here you sing?"

"No, I just….Ok fine, I was hiding, are you happy now!" he said angrily, his voice slightly more high pitched at the end.

"Hiding from what?"

The boy looked down, clearly ashamed. "From Karofsky and his neanderthals, they threatened to throw me in a dumpster after school if I showed up to gym class, I've been hiding here since lunch, and my dad is going to kill me for skipping when I get home"

"Then you should tell your dad the truth, he'll understand.

The boys scoffs at her and looks at her like she just said the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know you're only trying to help because you feel sorry for me, but I don't need your pity, your redundant advice or your help. You don't know me, or anything about me, so stop trying,"

After snapping at her, the boy hastily picks up his hairbrush from the floor and stuffs it into his messenger bag and storms out of the washroom with his head held high before Lucy can react to his temper tantrum.

"Hey! Wait! Where are you going!" Lucy shouts trailing after him out of the washroom. I don't even know your name!"

By the time Lucy catches up with him, they're on the main floor of the school, the boy standing near the front door, digging for something in his messenger bag, and for some reason he's blinking furiously. He looks up at her and Lucy sees that his clear blue eyes are wet with unshed tears.

"What do you want," he sneers.

"Can't you see what they're doing to you! You're letting them get to you! And it's making you bitter. You can't just let them do that to you! You have to tell your dad! Or teacher, or someone!"

The boy scoffs at Lucy again, with an icy expression. "You and I both know the administration here doesn't give a crap about anything. And as for my dad, it's bad enough for him and his good reputation to know he has a faggot for a son, that last thing he needs is to know I'm some sort of weak sissy too,".

Lucy gasped as the word _faggot _was spat venomously from his lips. Even though it wasn't at all the first time she'd heard that word, it still gave her stomach a sick, queasy feeling, that one miniscule two syllable word could protrude such hate.

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><p><em>She remembered the first she had heard the dreadful word. It was a few months into the seventh grade, she had been walking from the abandoned washroom when the bell for third period had rung when she saw the popular boys; namely Noah, David, Azimio and Finn all walking down the hall together. Finn had stopped for a moment, to look at a poster on a passing locker (late Lucy would see it had been an advertisement for the middle school's under populated arts club).<em>

"_That's **so** faggy, dude," David had exclaimed as Finn glanced away from the poster, clearly embarressed that he had been caught looking at it in interest._

"_Yea man, I didn't know you were interested in being a _faggot_ Hudson?" Noah quipped. "Santana is never going to be into you if she thinks you like musical fairy shit,"_

_The boys had continued walking, Finn mumbling something that had sounded like "I'm into boobs". Lucy, who had overheard Noah's remark in the conversation, including that ugly word she had never heard before, was intrigued to know what it meant. That night, when Lucy was sitting at the kitchen table, her history and math homework finished in front of her, she simply asked:_

"_Mom? What's a faggot?"_

_Judy Fabray, who was in the kitchen at the time making dinner, nearly dropped the plate she was holding._

"_Where did you hear that darling?" Judy asked turning to face her daughter after composing herself from the initial shock of her little girl using such foul language._

"_I heard some boys say it at school today, and you and daddy told me to ask you if I didn't know what something meant," Lucy stated quietly but matter-o-factly, remembering the conversation she had with her parents a few years ago after hearing Uncle Robbie use the "s" word that was a rude way of saying poop._

_The blonde woman sat down across from her daughter at the kitchen table and simply told her that it was a naughty word and that she shouldn't say. Lucy, being curious, stubborn and as knowledge hungry as she was asked her father when he got home from work. Like her mom, Russell Fabray told his daughter, that it was a horrible and offensive word and that he never wanted to hear his daughter use such filthy language. Of course, Lucy's curious itch was not soothed by either of her parents. Since her mother usually dropped her off at the public library every other Saturday morning when she had a spare shift at work, Lucy decided she would dig for facts there. _

_Upon arrival, Lucy went directly to the where the dictionaries were, selected her preferred enormous hard cover edition of Webster's New World Dictionary. She opened the large red book on an empty table and flipped the crisp but worn pages to the F section and began skimming, until her finger came across the proper letters: _f-a-g-g-o-t.

Faggot or fagot n.

1. a bundle of sticks of twigs used for fuel

2. a male homosexual (slang)

_Lucy slammed the dictionary shut. Homosexual. The definition to that word she knew. It was a person who was attracted to the same gender. As far as she knew, at least according to what the had briefly addressed at church at one point (some parents had complained they didn't want their children exposed to inappropriate subjects) and snippets of overhearing her parent's watching the evening news saying things like "those damn gays" while she pretended to be coloring in the kitchen or be reading a book in her bedroom. Lucy had never put all that much thought into gay people before, from what she had heard people around her say, it didn't seem particularly good to be gay, but now she was curious, she wanted to know why it was bad. So she went to the next book she knew could perhaps give her answers besides the dictionary, the bible._

_Although she was adamant in her faith and she had a strong belief that there was someone watching over her and that you went to heaven after death, Lucy Fabray was in no, way fanatical about her faith. Yes she prayed often for guidance and thanks, she went to church every Sunday and she proudly wore her gold cross necklace that her parents had given her on her First Communion, but she wasn't obsessed, like some of the people that she saw on TV on the rare Sunday morning when was too ill to attend the service. It had really freaked her out to say the least, and she had no intention of letting religion take over her life, especially when the minister on TV had eerily reminded her of her daddy, and his wife of her mom, but Lucy had just told herself that her mind was playing tricks on her._

_Lucy went to the computer lab in the far left hand side of the library after putting the dictionary back with shaking hands. She settled for the computer in the far corner, hidden from general view, even if the room was empty. Senior citizens from her congregation either frequented here or volunteered and Lucy didn't really feel comfortable at the thought of her parents knowing she was researching homosexuals. It wasn't as if she was ashamed, it was an uneasy feeling in her stomach was she tried to imagine her parent's puzzled faces if they were ever to know. _

_Once at her favourite search engine and went to an online bible passage sight that her youth group leader had mentioned. Once there Lucy looked under the H heading and found what she was looking for. Lucy looked at the page in awe at the words Genesis, she quickly clicked the link, wondering how she had missed the Book of Genesis mention gay people, when she had read the creation story and Noah's Ark so many times. And yet, after reading chapter 19 of Genesis about 5 times, Lucy brows still furrowed together in confusion, the story didn't talk about gay people at all, at least not to her. All she read was that the mob wanted to talk to the angels, what was awful about was that Lot gave his daughters to be raped by the mob, and as far as she was concerned, that was the horrible part of the story._

_Not wanting to deal with the fact that the Bible was not the book she thought it was Lucy left the site and proceeded to search "the history of homosexuals" in the search engine. The skimmed through the page of links, unsure of what the choose, until she came to the bottom of the page and saw the words Soul mates and Legend and Love she selected it, as it seemed the safest choice. The website turned out to be a site for reading Ancient Greek literature online. Lucy wasn't quite sure what ancient Greece and Plato had to do with gay people but she read on anyways. What she found was a Greek legend, the story told of a time when people were attached to their soul mates, some pairs were a man and a woman, some two men and some two woman.. All the pairs were attached at back; two heads, 4 arms, 4 legs but one heart, that two true lovers were 2 halves of a whole. As the legend read, the gods separated all the pairs, leaving them to have to find one another again. _

_As she finishes the legend, Lucy finds her eyes moist and she can't help but think of how romantically tragic the concept is. At the bottom of the page, people have posted comments on the legend, some are clearly from scholars, but Lucy barely skims through them, because they use words that even she doesn't quite understand. Others, she finds aren't quite comments at all. She reads people's tales of how they think they found their other half, as the legend says. After swooning over one about two women who eloped to Paris, Lucy finds one that breaks her heart. She follows a separate link to an old newspaper website from somewhere in Idaho. It's an in-depth report about two boys who went to their senior prom together and according to sources had plans to run away to California together after graduation. But their dreams came to a shattering halt and Lucy felt her heart shrivel and crack in her chest as she learned that their prom was invaded by anti-gay protesters from both of the boy's parishes. The couple was beaten, tortured and exorcised; they were discovered later in an abandoned field, arms wrapped around each other and dead. The golden cross necklace felt heavy and repulsive around her neck as she looked upon pictures of people protesting outside of what was obviously the funeral with sign reading: _"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them" Lev. 18:22_ written in blood red paint._

_Lucy's eyes filled with tears, she closed the article window and dashed out of the computer lab to the far left side of the library. She tore a bible off the shelf and violently flipped through the pages. At the sight of the familiar hateful words, the color red dancing through her mind, she threw the book across the aisle, as if it burned her hand and curled up against one of the large shelves. _

_"Excuse me, little girl are you alright?" _

_A man with olive skin and a rather big nose, the bible she had thrown in one hand and a 3 books under his other arm. Lucy took the bible from his hand as he offered it back to her and set it carefully on the floor beside her._

_"Are you alright?" he repeated._

_"My parents told me not to talk to strangers, sir," Lucy replied diligently, sniffing her nose._

_The man chuckled. "You have good parents then," he said with a bright smile. "I tell my daughter the same thing before she goes anywhere," he pauses for a moment. "Are you sure you're going to be alright?"_

_"Yes, no, I'm not sure," Lucy pauses, and looks up at him, directly in the eye. "Sir, have you ever believed in something your whole life, and then it turns out you were wrong about it?"_

_"Well first off, there's no need to call me sir, you can just call me Adam instead" Adam settles down beside her on the blue carpet. "And yes, a few things,"_

_"Do you believe in God?" _

_"Because I'm Jewish, I usually call him Yahweh, but yes, I do believe in God. Do you?" Adam asks, looking at the necklace._

_"I don't know anymore. I don't understand why God would send someone to Hell, just because they love someone," _

_Adam smiles a little. "I used to think so too,"_

_"Why?"_

_"Because I'm gay,"_

_Lucy's jaw drops a little. "Really?"_

_Adam nods. "Mhm, I've been with my partner Stefan for nearly 25 years now,"_

_"How can you believe in God if you're gay? Why do you believe in something that hates you,"_

_"I don't like to believe that God would have made me this way, if he didn't want me to be,"_

_"But, but the bible, Leviticus, it says that it's bad, but the boys from Idaho, they loved each other, and they died, and, and," Lucy couldn't stop herself from rambling about everything she had discovered._

_Adam simply put a comforting arm on her shoulder and Lucy listened in awe as he talked about the pro gay synoguage he went to with his partner and daughter in Deyton whenever they could and showed her different passages in the bible, one that hinted that Ruth and Naomi were lesbians and that only a few pages earlier in Leviticus it read that the eating shrimp was an abomination. _

_"You're daughter is really lucky to have you as a dad," Lucy said as she timidly wrapped her arms around Adam giving him an awkward hug. _

_"You're a great kid Lucy, don't ever change," _

* * *

><p>"You shouldn't call yourself that," Lucy snapped at the boy, putting a comforting arm on his shoulder "Just because you like boys doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you, you're just, different,"<p>

He looks down at Lucy's hand, and roughly shoves it off. "I find it incredibly ironic that the girl with the cross around her neck is telling me it's ok to be queer,"

Lucy touches the small smooth cross self consciously, once again the small symbol of her beliefs felt like a constricting chain of guilt.

"I'm just being nice to be you,"

"Look Fabray, I don't need your pity or your Bible Belle act. Just leave me alone,"

Lucy's eyes widened. "How do you know my last name?"

"Just because over half of the student body avoids me like the plague, doesn't mean that I'm blind and deaf to what goes on here," He explains.

"You know my name, but I don't know yours,"

"Kurt Hummel," he says. "I'm actually surprised you haven't heard of me, I don't exactly assimilate well and Karofsky and the other neanderthals have no problem announcing it every time they see me,"

"You should come to the library! It's safer than the cafeteria and a lot more sanitary than the bathroom,"

"I don't know," Kurt starts. "Let's see if I survive tonight, I'm already late. I'll um see you around Fabray," Kurt waves and walks away gripping his messenger bag, and for the first time in what seemed like a century, a small smile grazed Kurt Hummel's lips.


	3. Chapter 3

The following day Lucy's eyes lit up as Kurt Hummel waltzed into the library, messenger bag over his shoulder and sapphire eyes observing the the oak book shelves, red carpeted floor and blue armchairs.

"It's nicer than I expected," Kurt stated. "Considering I didn't know Harding had a library before you told me,"

"Hi," Lucy breathes tentatively. "I, didn't think you would show up,"

"I took what you said into consideration last night. Entering the cafeteria is a self proclaimed death sentence, and the bathroom was starting to smell, I swear people still use those damn toilets,"

Lucy wrinkled her nose at the thought and the burst out laughing. "That really gross,"

"Lucy, I found something for- oh who's this?" A familiar voice said.

Lucy turned around and saw Mrs. Schuster and smiled broadly. "Hey Mrs. Schue! Um, this is my friend Kurt," Lucy replied cheerily as Kurt waved awkwardly at Mrs. Schuster.

"Oh, well, I'll just leave you two and I'll set these on the counter for you, I have some things I need to be getting finished in the back anyways," Mrs Schuster said smiling as she retreated to the backroom hastily.

"Come on, I'll show you my favourite spot!" Lucy said excitedly leading Kurt behind the shelves to the plush blue chairs by the window.

"So, what is it that you do in here?" Kurt asks as he settles into the armchair across from Lucy's placing his bag on the table in between them.

"I usually read, or do my homework. Why?"

Kurt smiles. "If we're friends, we are going to have to find something in common to talk about,"

"I've never really had a friend before, besides Mrs. Schuster that is, there was those 10 minutes I tried with Rachel and all, but I don't think that really counts," Lucy looks down at her hands, trying not to meet Kurt's gaze.

"I haven't- hold on, did you just say you tried to be friends with Rachel? As in Rachel Berry?" Kurt starts laughing. "I hope her horrid excuse for a personality didn't scar you for life. I'm pretty sure I'll need intensive therapy at some point for all the times she makes me want to gauge my eyes out,"

"You know her?" Lucy asks, looking at Kurt's half amused half irritated expression

"Unfortunately I do," Kurt snorts and proceeds to tell her about his and Rachel Berry's ridiculous rivalry since the age of 4 when Kurt showed up for his first ballet class and "stole" her solo in the spring recital. Lucy was surprisingly, not surprised when Kurt told her he did ballet - she noticed how gracefully he used his hands as he talked – or that he stole Rachel's spotlight. Kurt sang a lot better than Rachel, and even though she'd never seen it, she was quote positive he danced better too, just by the way he carried himself, the was his moved. Yes, Lucy was quite certain that Kurt Hummel was vastly more talented than Rachel Berry would ever dream to be. She had heard Rachel sing the national anthem at the school assembly in September, yes she was good, amazing even, but Lucy was sure she had heard her voice a million times over. Kurt's voice on the other hand was like nothing she had ever heard before. But before she could comment on his rant of much he wanted to shove Rachel in a closet, the bell rang and the pair walked out of the library together arms linked, waving to Mrs. Schuster on their way, who was smiling broadly with a hand on her heart.

Lucy settled into her new routine with Kurt, meeting him in the library at lunch and spending the period talking about nothing and everything as they ate their lunch. Some days Kurt would complain about Rachel's latest ridiculous stunts from ballet and wonder how her dads put up with her (Lucy had revelled in her shock silently to realize that Adam _Berry_ was responsible for Rachel's upbringing) or the latest school gossip. Other days Lucy would prattle on about books, and by the end of their second week in the library and after a long period of discussion on why Harry Potter was the best book ever, Kurt sourly shoved the first 4 books in his bag, muttering under his breath about "ridiculous" and "unhealthy obsession". Lucy of course, couldn't help but be smug when she walked in on Monday to find the first 3 on the return cart and Kurt intently reading _The Goblet of Fire_.

"Don't say anything," Kurt said, his eyes not leaving the page and Lucy couldn't help but giggle before sneaking up behind him and whispering "I told you so," in his ear.

* * *

><p>On a cloudy afternoon in the early days of February. She and Kurt were curled up in their usually spot, she with <em>To Kill a Mockingbird<em> and Kurt with _Half-Blood Prince_.

"Where did you learn how to sing?" Lucy asks, the question had been gnawing at the back of her mind since the first she had heard Kurt sing _Defying Gravity _in the bathroom.

"I've been singing for as long as I can remember," He replies, setting his book down on the table between them. "It was something I did with my mom, before she died,"

Lucy knew that Kurt's mom had passed away when he eight, they had talked about it once, but she never brought it up again, his eyes had looked so lost, lonely, so lifeless.

"It wasn't until after her funeral, when I started taking it more seriously. My grandma, she moved closer to us; me and my dad to help take care of me while my dad took care of the shop. She had never really been part of my life until then, and one day she found me singing along to one of my mom's Beatles tapes in my parent's rooms and she asked me if I wanted to take singing lessons. She started taking me to Deyton every Sunday to a music school, for operatic vocal training. The rest is history I guess,"

"Do you think you could teach me?" Lucy asks quietly, pushing her glasses back on her nose. "How to sing,"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I thought you sang with your church?"

"Yes, but, you're really good and I was hoping you could give me some tips,"

Kurt agrees ecstatically and somehow invites himself over to Lucy's place after school.

They walk to Lucy's house together in silence after school and Lucy is nervous. It's not that she's ashamed of where she lives, she loves the cozy little apartment she shares with her family, but she's not entirely sure if Kurt will. While Lucy lives on the east side of town – only one right turn away from Lima Heights Adjacent (the wrong side of the tracks), Kurt lives on the west side, where all the houses are made of white siding and have nice backyards, and judging by the nice clothes Kurt wears everyday and the amount of hairspray uses in a week, she's quite positive his family has no problem affording living there. But when they reach her family's humble abode on the third floor Kurt acts as if nothing is out of the ordinary as he hangs up his coat next to Lucy's on the coat rack. They aren't in the apartment for 10 minutes and Kurt has already the box full of her dad's records on the coffee table in the living area.

"They're my dad's," Lucy says as she watches Kurt look through box, he picks up a white record case that Lucy doesn't think she's seen and he stares at it for a few long seconds in the silence, his blue eyes glazed with an expression of loneliness, but puts it back in the box when he senses Lucy's gaze.

"Is there anything in particular you like to sing?" Kurt asks, breaking the silence. "I'll need to hear you, if you want me to help,"

Lucy shrugs in response; her taste in music was limited to gospel hymns and her dad's record collection. "I like The Supremes?"

"Perfect!" Kurt claps his hands together excitedly. "Diana Ross is legend,"

Kurt digs out the familiar blue record and puts it on the machine, letting the intro play.

_Set me free why don't-cha baby  
>Get out my life why don't-cha baby<br>Cause' you don't really love me  
>You just keep me hangin' on<em>

_You don't really need me  
>But you keep me hangin' on<br>Why do you keep on comin' around  
>Playing with my heart<br>Why don't you get out of my life  
>And let me make a new start<br>Let me get over you_

Lucy sings quietly along with Diana's powerful voice. She had never thought much about her singing voice, all she knew was that her voice type was something called "mezzo-soprano" and the pianist at church had played her first solo in the key of E flat.

_The way you've gotten over me  
>Set me free why don't-cha baby<br>Let me be why don't-cha baby  
>Cause' you don't really love me<br>You just keep me hangin' on_

_No you don't really want me_  
><em>You just keep me hangin' on<em>  
><em>You say though we broke up<em>  
><em>You still wanna be just friends<em>  
><em>But how can we still be friends<em>  
><em>When seeing you only breaks my heart again<em>  
><em>And there ain't nothing I can do about it<em>

Kurt starts to do a little dance around her living room shaking his hips, chiming in with the back up vocals and Lucy stumbles over the words that she knows off by heart because she's trying hard not to laugh at how silly he looks. And before she knows it, Kurt is taking her hands and making her dance along with him, awkwardly moving her hips to the music and jumping up and down. Both of them belting out the words.

_Set me free why don't-cha baby  
>Get out my life why don't-cha baby<br>You don't really love me  
>But just keep me hangin' on<br>You claim you still care for me  
>But your heart still needs to be free<br>Now that you've got your freedom  
>You wanna still hold on to me<br>You don't want me for all yourself  
>So let me find somebody yes<em>

_Why don't-cha be a man about it  
>And set me free<br>Now, you don't care a thing about me  
>You just use me<em>

_Go on, get out, get out of my life  
>And let me sleep at night, please<br>Cause you don't really love me  
>You just keep me hangin' on<em>

By the time the song ends, the pair of them are doubled over laughing hysterically and breathing heavily that they didn't notice the additional presence in the room.

"Who's this Lucy?" At the sound of her mother's voice Lucy whips around, blushing, wondering how much of her and Kurt's little show she had seen.

"M-mom, um, this is my friend Kurt,"

"Very nice to meet you Kurt," Judy says charmingly. "Lucy dear, you didn't tell me you were having a friend over,"

"Sorry," Lucy replies dumbly.

"It's fine dear," Judy turns to Kurt. "Would you like to join us for dinner Kurt, I bought enough groceries for 3 and Lucy's father is eating out with work,"

Kurt accepted the invitation after calling his dad. Dinner, although an awkward affair, would have been far worse had it not been for Kurt's quick wit and charm to each of Judy's prying questions about his personal life. Lucy felt mortified when her mother asked Kurt what his parents did for a living and what parish he went to. Nonetheless, Kurt had answered diligently; his dad was a mechanic, his mother was a piano teacher before she died and no his family wasn't particularly religious. Lucy had apologized to her friend profusely for the next three days and Kurt always laughed in response and said he was used to it.

Despite the strange, awkward from Judy and later Russell (although that acquaintance improved when Kurt shared his experiences fixing cars during the summer months) when he would come to meet him, Kurt became a fixture in the Fabray apartment. For Lucy, at least at first, it was strange, not being in the apartment alone after school, waiting for her parents to come home. She appreciated the company and adored the companion.. She and Kurt became attached at the hip, living in their own little world, where no one could touch them. They spent hours upon hours singing along to the musical soundtracks that Kurt had or her dad's records, flipping through articles in magazines, discussing books – Kurt had evntually became an obsessive Potter fan, not that he would ever admit it - and gossiping aimlessly about how adorable Finn Hudson was or laughing at Rachel's latest ridiculous stunt for attention.

* * *

><p>Kurt invites Lucy to his ballet recital in late March. He had been ecstatic as he placed the ticket in front of her and told her to save the date and wear something nice. The performance of <em>Le Sylphide <em>left Lucy in awe and wanting more. Seeing Kurt glide and spin across the stage, so gracefully yet with so much power, his skin tight costume revealing the toned body that hid underneath his clothes. At first, seeing Kurt handle Rachel Berry, lifting her effortlessly into the air, and seeming so, enchanted by her, during their multiple duets gave Lucy a strange feeling in her gut that she couldn't describe.

As soon as the performance was over Lucy was given a bone crushing hug from Kurt who thanked her endlessly for coming and asked what she thought.

"You stole the show!" Lucy told him honestly giving him another hug. "Rachel was lovely, but she really should be jealous,"

"I'm too fabulous for my own good," Kurt says shrugging his shoulders playfully making Lucy giggle.

Kurt's dad took them out for hot chocolate after at a little café before driving Lucy home. That night, after talking to Kurt on the phone, giggling about the looks that Kurt's stage makeup got them in the café.

Lucy told her parents goodnight, and went to sleep. The nightmare of two boys on a snow covered balcony, their faces hidden in the shadows, didn't jump off the ledge hand in hand into the dark pit of nothingness as they had done several times before. One tall and lithe, the other slightly shorter and stockier simply held each other, a soft familiar melody whispered in the wind. The only thing Lucy vaguely remembers when she awakes is two pairs of eyes. One pair an eerily familiar shade of blue and the other hazel.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you for all the alerts and feecback! I greatly appriciate it :)

* * *

><p>Whenever Lucy sits down to pray she always asks God for the same things; the well being of her family, her friends and to be beautiful. She knows shouldn't be asking for that last thing, it's vain and it's selfish, but Lucy can't help it when she looks in the mirror at her reflection and the only word that comes to mind is <em>ugly<em>.

Her hair, although she doesn't mind the colour – auburn like her grandmother's – is entirely too fuzzy and wild for her liking. Her body still clings onto the last remains of baby fat around her stomach and behind; hence the nickname "Lucy Caboosey" that the popular kids had dubbed her with on her first day of middle school. The only thingshe genuinely likes about her appearance is her eyes, they were green like Harry Potter's. But like her favourite hero, they remained hidden behind the glasses she was quite blind without. All Lucy really wanted was to look in the mirror and feel beautiful, just like her sister, was that really too much to ask.

With her ashy blonde hair, brown doe eyes and candy sweet disposition, Frances Fabray; or Frannie as she preferred, represented everything that was good and beautiful in this world. She was the walking cliché that every boy wanted and every girl wanted to be. And as far as Lucy had been concerned she was everything that she wanted to be too. Back in their old house, every time Frannie waltzed down the stairs in her perfectly pressed cheerleading uniform, hair neatly pulled back. Lucy had watched in complete awe, knowing that was wanted she wanted to be when she grew up.

Lucy remembered gazing so admiringly as Frannie walked down the stairs the night of her senior prom, looking just like Cinderella in her blue chiffon ball gown, golden curls in an elegant twist. Ten year old Lucy sat and watched as her daddy beam at her older sister, exclaiming how proud he was of his sunshine; captain of the cheerleading squad, president of the celibacy club, princess of the chastity ball and how she would be going to Princeton in the fall. Soon enough her football playing boyfriend had arrived and her mother took about 100 pictures babbling on about how they were shoe in for Prom King and Queen.

Frannie had returned home in the wee hours of the morning, the inevitable tiara on her head. The only thing that seemed out of place was her mussed hair and the strange bruises on her neck. Lucy had questioned her older sister. Frannie had simply laughed and told her, that when she was older and had a boyfriend she would get love marks too, and no they didn't hurt at all. Knowing this, Lucy had been, to say the least confused to find her sister crying after her graduation party, apparently she and Joey were no longer boyfriend and girlfriend.

"But her gave you love marks," Lucy had fussed watching Frannie sob into her pillow. Frannie then took Lucy into her arms and held her close, telling Lucy that one day, when she truly, truly loved someone, that she do whatever she had to do to make sure that person was happy. Frannie looked Lucy in the eye and told her promise and Lucy proudly crossed her heart and hoped to die, Frannie laughed, squeezing her closer.

As Lucy dozed off into sleep, her big sister's arms wrapped around her, the promise she had made still dancing in her memory, she dreamed. Of the quiet strumming of a guitar, strong calloused hands holding hers, the distant sound of her name.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?" Lucy asked, setting down her magazine. They were in Lucy's small bedroom, sprawled on her bed, which was currently covered in magazines, Barbra Streisand's Greatest Hits playing in the background. "Do you think I'm pretty?"<p>

Kurt looked up from his issue of Vogue so fast, that promptly fell off the side of the bed, and crashed loudly to the floor. "What?" he squeaked, as he scrambled to his feet, brushing nonexistent dirt from his sweater.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" Lucy felt her face get hot as she quietly repeated her question.

"Of course I do Luce!" Kurt exclaimed moving closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Not that I mind, or anything, but why exactly are you asking?" His eyes were wide with interest.

"We're best friends right?"

Kurt nodded slowly. "Of course,"

"And we promised to tell the truth to each other, no matter what, right?"

Kurt nodded again watching Lucy stand up and walk toward the window, her back facing him.

"I trust you, Kurt, more than I trust anyone, that's I why I wanted to ask you, because I know that you'll be honest with me. No matter what," Lucy had turned around now, her green eyes staring directly into Kurt's blue ones.

Kurt sighed. "Oh Lucy. Of course I think you're pretty. You are the most beautiful and fabulous person I know. I couldn't have picked anyone better to be my best friend,"

Lucy smiled a little, walking the few paces from the window to the long floor length mirror across from her bed; it had once belonged to her sister.

"I just don't understand, how I can be all that, if I feel so ugly, all the time," Tears trickled down Lucy's cheeks, fogging up her glasses. "I just want to be pretty, like Frannie," she whispered, the last two words barely audible as she glanced at the family picture on the wall, it had been taken 3 years before.

Kurt came up behind her and put a comforting arm around his friend. "I have an idea," Kurt says quietly. "If you're willing to hear me out,"

"What kind of idea?"

"How would you like it, if, I could help you try and feel prettier,"

Lucy looked at her friend, brows knitting together. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you could start off by writing down everything you want to change about yourself, and we could start off from there," Kurt smiled, taking off Lucy's glasses, wiping her tears away gently with his thumb. "What do you say?"

"Ok," Lucy replied a soft smile on her lips as Kurt squealed with excitement clutching her in a hug.

That night, long after Kurt had gone home, and she was supposed to be tucked away in bed, Lucy Fabray pulled out her leather bound journal. She flipped past pages of embarrassing drawings and doodles and turned to a fresh blank page.

_1. Body._

* * *

><p>Lucy Fabray prided herself in few things, but being meticulous and precise in anything she set her mind to, and her new lifestyle change would be no exception. She listened intently to Kurt's every word as they sat in his spacious green kitchen, mapping out the first step of what Kurt animatedly dubbed the "<em>Lucy Fabray Transformation Extravaganza!<em>"

Based on all the things Lucy had wanted to change; or "transform" as Kurt had put it, had all been factored into an intense diet and exercise regime, that Kurt had proudly written himself. At first glance, Lucy had gaped at the intensity of the system her blue eyed friend had designed for her. Her new diet consisted of only fruit, vegetables, nuts, chicken and fish, but only baked. NO CARBS and NO FAT were written in big bolded red letters at the top of the page and 2 hours of exercise daily. Before Lucy could complain, Kurt had told her with a reassuring smile that he insisted on exercising with her and showing her some of his favorite recipes.

By the end of the first week of her new lifestyle, Lucy was just about ready to give up; she was hungry and grouchy all the time and her body was sore all over, and she saw no difference when she looked in the mirror. She was still chubby and even with the face washes Kurt had so generously given her, the same pimples stubbornly stained her skin. All Lucy wanted to do was make herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and curl up with her worn copy of _Jane Eyre_. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn't. A little voice in the back of her mind; that scarily enough sounded a lot like Frannie, her sugar sweet voice whispered nasty things in her ears. Her pert and pretty doe face mocking her from its several places on the apartment walls.

_"Don't you love yourself Lucy? Don't you want to be beautiful Lucy? Why are you so weak, can't even take doing a few sit ups. Even that Rachel Berry has the potential for beauty. You'll never be as good as Frannie. What kind of a name is Lucy anyways. Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey,"_

"You are going to be beautiful one day," a voice; Lucy could swear was her own whispered. "No matter it takes,"

* * *

><p>By the end of March, after mass amounts of exercising at the local YMCA with Kurt; doing the machines and the pilates stretches he did at ballet and religiously following her diet and beauty routine. Lucy, slowly but surely started to notice a difference. She had been practically giddy with excitement as she stood on the scale one morning, the number was 15 less than it had been one month earlier. Kurt had sung her praises all through lunch as they contently ate their salads and sipped their water, talking about the new clothes Lucy would soon need to get, because of the gradual deflation of her body that hid beneath her frumpy hand me downs.<p>

"Oh Kurt! I've never felt better!" Lucy giggled with excitement as they ran laps around the track after school. "I'm so happy…that I just want to dance!" Lucy spun quickly on one foot and kicked her leg high in the air, mimicking the dance moves she had seen Kurt practice in the empty auditorium.

"How did you do that?" Kurt asked dumbstruck.

"What this?" Lucy kicked her leg up in the air again.

The next Saturday, after an hour of convincing from Kurt long evening of pandering to her parents, Lucy stepped into her first ballet class at the local community center, and even though by the end, her muscles felt like they were on fire and she was drenched in sweat, for the first time in her young life, Lucy Fabray felt the potential for beauty.

All Lucy wanted to do was dance. She danced on Saturday's at the community center's open class, she danced in the empty auditorium with Kurt after school, and much to her delight, and her parent's signed her up for a class at Kurt's dance school.

Kurt and Lucy spent every waking moment together, and even convinced their parents to let them have a sleepover at Lucy's apartment. They stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, mooning and giggling at the dapper male leads from Russell Fabray's vintage movie collection, munching on carrot sticks.

"Sing for me," Lucy whispered into the dim light of her living room.

"Now?" Kurt whispered backed, exasperated. "But your mom…"

"Please Kurtie," Lucy pouted.

"Just a little bit,"

Kurt took in a small breath, and whispered the song into warm silence.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
><em>Take these broken wings and learn to fly<em>  
><em>All your life<em>  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>

_Black bird singing in the dead of night_  
><em>Take these sunken eyes and learn to see<em>  
><em>all your life<em>  
><em>you were only waiting for this moment to be free<em>

_Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly_  
><em>Into the light of the dark black night.<em>

_Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly_  
><em>Into the light of the dark black night.<em>

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_  
><em>Take these broken wings and learn to fly<em>  
><em>All your life<em>

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise,_  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to arise,<em>  
><em>You were only waiting for this moment to arise<em>

As the last note echoed into the silence, Lucy felt Kurt inch closer her under the mass of blankets that served as a make shift bed on the living room floor.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Kurt whispered, trying not to meet Lucy's eyes.

Lucy nodded holding her best friend tight, clutching his hand.

"Sometimes, I really miss my mom," Silent tears tracked down Kurt's porcelain face as he buried himself in Lucy's shoulder.

Lucy rubbed small circles into Kurt's back, whispering comforting words into his ear as he cried softly and quietly into her shoulder. She had only seen him so vulnerable once before, that fateful day in the girl's washroom when she found him singing Defying Gravity.

Kurt has been her best friend for months and they have been practically inseparable since the day they met, yet, Lucy has never truly _seen _him. When it's just the two of them, like this exact moment, both of them safe in the confines of their peaceful universe, Kurt is the kindest, most compassionate and ingenuous person she has ever known. But when he turns the corner as they go their separate ways after lunch, Lucy can practically feel the shift. His deep blue eyes become icy, expressionless, his pale pristine face, that had was usually lightly flushed pink with joy, becomes stark white and blank. His stance taller, frigid and the usually bounce in his stride becomes an arrogant strut.

Lucy has never mentioned her observations. Not because she doesn't want to, but because she's scared. Terrified. Kurt is her best and only friend. Lucy loves her elegant blue eyed boy, (sometimes a little too much) and she knows that Kurt loves her. They need each other. Lucy thinks this to herself as she rubs her back comfortingly. As Kurt Hummel sleeps nestled in the crook of her neck, his face tear stained, that maybe, just maybe the slight taste she has had of the darkness the lies beneath; the perfectly coiffed hair, the immaculate outfits and extraordinary talent will be all she ever has to taste. Maybe one day, if not her, someone, one day, Kurt will let them truly _see _him.

* * *

><p>As she stands silently in the shadows, Judy Fabray can't find it in herself to be a good parent. She knows she should go and tell her daughter to go and sleep in her room as she remembers the ground rules her and Burt Hummel discussed awkwardly on the phone last week for their children having a sleepover.<p>

Judy knows that if Russell were here, this sleepover wouldn't have happened in the first place, nor would their daughter be curled up on the floor of their living room with a boy. But Russell isn't here; he's been away for business in Cincinnati for the past week. Judy doesn't have the heart to tear her daughter away from her best friend's arms as the sleep soundly under a mound of blankets; their hands clasped innocently over top of the fluffy blue blanket.

Instead, Judy tiptoes into the living room and turns off the muted version of _My Fair Lady_ that is playing on the screen and gently kisses her daughter and gently stroked the soft hair of her quirky friend. Although she was unsure of what to think of Kurt Hummel and his peculiar ways when she first met him, a soft spot for him had grown in her heart. A smile grazed her lips every time she thought back to seeing Lucy singing and dancing, rather ridiculously to Diana Ross in her living room with the pale boy she had never seen before.

She may be Christian, and believe strongly in her faith, but Judy Fabray is not ignorant. Lima is a small town, and she had heard the hushed whispers in the vegetable aisle about the local mechanic's son being a flaming homosexual. Judy had never paid much attention to gossip about people she wasn't acquainted too, especially what she thought to be over exaggerated shenanigans about people's children. But upon meeting the infamous Kurt Hummel, the rumors were not quite that false. Everything about Kurt Hummel was ridiculously feminine, from his voice and mannerisms, flamboyant clothes right up to his pretty elfin face. Judy knew that Kurt Hummel was most likely a homosexual and it surprisingly didn't bother her. She had been raised to believe that homosexuality was a sin, but when Judy looked at Kurt Hummel, the boy her daughter adored more than anything in this world, Judy couldn't see even a smidge of impurity or sin in his sad cerulean eyes.

She gives them one last glance before shutting off the lights and turns into her bedroom, which feels empty, without Russell to sleep next to her. Judy holds her cross from her necklace between her fingers and she prays. She prays for Frannie, who is away in New Jersey, hopefully tucked in her dorm room asleep, not wasting the night away disgracing the family name. She prays for Lucy, that she stays as happy as she is now, because she's never seen her daughter shine so bright. And she prays that Russell comes back from his business trip with good news, because Judy desperately wishes that she can give _both_ her daughters everything they want and more.


	5. Chapter 5

For as long as she can remember, the sound of her daddy coming through the front door, in the evenings after a long days work could brighten up Lucy's day in an instant. When she was younger, she would dash as fast she could to the front door and throw her arms around him and he would spin her around and kiss her cheek before setting her down, telling her to run along and help mom with dinner.

Even as she grew, and she got much too tall for her daddy to pick her up, their little house became the apartment, and the time of night he came in was much later, Lucy still looked forward to the hour when she could hear the jangling of her daddy's keys. She loved sitting in the living room with him after dinner, checking over her homework, while listening to his favourite James Brown record. Yet, even the knowledge that her father would be returning tonight after his two week absence couldn't urge Lucy to get herself off her bed.

The day had gone particularly horrid. Kurt had not come to school; having gone to some long overdue Hummel family reunion, that she knew he was dreading (his dad's family wasn't particularly fond of his wardrobe). Lunch had not been horrible, as she had Mrs. Schuster to chat with for the period. Lucy was not as close with the librarian as her friendship with Kurt had flourished, leaving their usual fascinating conversations, rather awkward.

She had been walking down the hall on her way to chemistry after lunch when she felt it; a cool sharp sting, slapping her across the face, cool, sticky liquid oozing its way down her skin. The sound of a familiar cruel laughter filled her ears.

"Looks like the hag is without her fag today," jeered, what she thought was Azimio. Lucy couldn't open her eyes very much, without the frozen purple liquid burning them

"Yea, where's your fag friend Caboosey, did the little bitch get sick of you or something," Karofsky taunted and Santana said something incoherent in between giggles.

"See ya Caboosey," As soon as Lucy could no longer hear the sounds of their laughter and the clapping of high fives, she ran as fast as she could out of the school and all the way home, keeping her head down, tears flooding her face, ignoring the calls of Mrs. Schuster from behind her.

* * *

><p>As soon as she had washed away all the slushy from her body and hair, Lucy put on her most comfortable clothes, tied her wet hair away from her face and went for a run. She ran for around her block and through the little park around the corner from her building. Running, like dance and reading cleared her head. She loved it now that she was in shape enough to do it. By the time she got home and collapsed on her bed, the muscles in her legs burning, she could hear her mother shuffle in, calling that she was home. She didn't move Judy came to call her for dinner, poking in her blonde head. Lucy said she wasn't hungry and just laid there, her wet auburn hair soaking the pillow. The feeling of the cold wet corn syrup hitting her face and the sound of jeering laughter echoed in her mind. Even with a friend by her side, she couldn't escape. That's all she wanted an escape. <em>An escape.<em>

Lucy shifted enough to open her bedside table drawer and take out her journal. The book was still in its immaculate condition as it had been the day she received it months ago. She carefully and slowly flipped through the pages, several covered in the same drawings. Most of them of a girl, her figure slim, a small nose perched delicately in the center of her face. Lucy let her index finger gently trace the image on the page when she heard a strange noise coming from outside the door.

Opening the door to her bedroom quietly, and stayed behind the corner. Her parents were hugging in the narrow hallway. Both of them smiling widely and laughing.

"Is that you Lucy dear!" Judy called happily. "Come, me and your father have excellent news!"

Lucy went into the living room with her parents and sat in the green armchair beside the record player. "What's going on?" she asks

"I got a new job!" Russell states plainly, smiling widely, an arm around his wife's waist.

"That's amazing Daddy,"

"It pays triple as much," Judy chimes in, not being able to contain her happiness. "And now we'll be able to give you we haven't been able to,"

"What do you mean by the exactly," Lucy asked, her eyes fleeting between both of her parents.

"What your mother is trying to say sweetheart, is that we want to apologize to you, no don't say anything, let me explain. We haven't been able to give you everything Lucy, and now that I have a better job, and your mother and I won't have to work as much, we can be a family again,"

"We love you so much Lucy," Judy says softly.

"And because we love you so much, I want you to tell Daddy something that you really want, and I'll do my best to get it for you,"

"Anything?" Lucy inquires cautiously

"Anything for my princess,"

"Well, there is one thing that I really want," Lucy pulls nervously at a loose thread on her loose fitting t-shirt with one hand, her other hand clutching at her journal.

"Yes" Judy presses. "Anything you want, darling,"

Lucy closes her eyes; she takes in a deep breath. "Can I get a nose job?"

Judy and Russell look taken aback for a moment, Lucy bites her lower lip, holding her breath.

"Of course you can, darling!" Judy finally speaks up. "I'll call your grandmother first thing tomorrow for recommendation; you may as well get it done while we're Charleston this summer,"

Judy and Russell begin chattering idly about travel plans and an impending visit to West Virginia, Lucy opens her journal that she has been holding tightly in her hands. She runs her hand over the smooth black front cover, her finger tracing the letter of her name.

"_Escape, escape, escape,"_

"Wait," she says suddenly, unable to stop herself. "There's one more thing that I want,"

"Yes sweetheart?" Russell inquires.

Lucy looks between both of her parents questioning faces.

"I want you to call me Quinn,"

_Quinn Fabray._

* * *

><p>End of Part One.<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

Part 2:

The summer was unnaturally hot for Ohio, the scorching summer sun streamed through the wall length glass windows of the King's Island Country Club and Blaine Anderson really wished that he wasn't wearing a suit. But it was Sunday, and after the 9 o'clock service at The Way of the Light Church, the congregation would gather in the one of the banquet halls at King's Island and have brunch. The congregation was made up entirely of some of northern Ohio's most prestigious upper class families, in fact, 85% of Westerville's population consisted of the residents of its highly posh subdivisions.

Everything about Westerville was the picture perfect example of conservative American culture. Every colonial styled house, with its perfectly manicured lawns and white picket fences, a Cadillac or BMW in every cobblestoned driveway and every second house with a red sign properly placed on the lawn, awaiting the next election. Every family, the portrait of happiness; the perfect wealthy husband, the perfect beautiful housewife and the perfect charming children.

* * *

><p>Except that it's all one monumental lie, down to the very last silver teaspoon. Blaine knows this, deep down inside, where his conscience whispers the chilling, disturbing truths of reality. But Westerville is the only life he had ever known, and probably ever will. So he pretends, he pretends that everything is as perfect as it seems; that his parents are the living version of the fairytales that mesmerized him as a child and that his father loves him unconditionally in his own special way and that he doesn't feel the pressure of expectation at every corner closing in around him like a cold metal cage.<p>

Blaine has been pretending for so long that he doesn't bat an eye to the obvious anymore. As he watches his mother, chat animatedly with one the ladies at the table next to theirs. He pretends that the others don't look at his mother like she had some sort of mental affliction, that their smiles and sugary sweet voices are genuine. Blaine loves his mother dearly, and hurts seeing that even after living in this life for so long and doing everything possible to fit the mold, that she will always be seen as an outsider. They will be seen as outsiders.

Even though the Andersons are every bit as prestigious as all the other families, and not at all the only interracial couple in the community, Blaine still needs to block out the inevitable whispers when he and his parents walk into a party, to church or even just walking down the street.

He heard it for the first time when he was just eight going on nine. His mother had taken him to a doctor, yet at the time, Blaine hadn't thought it was a doctor, because all the lady did was talk to him and ask him weird questions. After the lady, named Dr. Walters, had finished talking to him, his mother had told him to go and play with the toys in the corner of the waiting room, while she talked to the nice doctor. Blaine had nodded in reply, looking into her dark almond shaped eyes and she kissed him on the cheek telling him what a good boy he had been and that they would get ice cream later.

As Blaine played quietly with the action figures, he swore he overheard his name being said followed by Maria – his mother's name. He turned his head quietly and saw two women, on the other side of the waiting room, where the other doctors office's were, he recognized them both immediately, Mrs. Lewis and Mrs. Grant, they lived in his subdivision and came to his house to drink tea with his mom.

Being the curious child that he was, Blaine strained to listen to the mutterings on the other side of the room. He picked up a few things, but didn't really understand most of them.

_"Sham of a marriage…"_

_"…..slept with the nanny,"_

_"….heard ex-wife is a complete cow,"_

_"….child support for 3 other children…"_

_"Bastard child…clearly some sort of mental affliction,"_

_"…used Asian witchcraft….not even Kevin's!"_

_"…..heard she's Catholic! Just as bad….."_

Before he could finish listening, his mom emerged from the doctor's office and told him it was time to go. Blaine frowned as the mean ladies waved and smiled at his mother as they left.

Blaine had asked his mother that night the story of how her and his daddy fell in love and he had listened in awe to the fairytale quality his mother gave the story of the lonely business man and how he fell in love with the kind and beautiful servant.

"Just like Cinderella….I wanna be like just like Cinderella," Blaine had murmured sleepily before drifting off, not seeing his mother's frown of concern.

Now at 16 going on 17, Blaine was aware of the story of his parents' marriage and why the stares and whispers followed them at every social event they attended, even church. Over the years, as Blaine slowly began to understand, he taught himself to tune it out. Just as he was doing now, pretending to be enjoying the food in front of him, ignoring the brief, but disdainful glances as his mother spoke to her "friends" about some sort of interior decorating style and his father discussed something political with some of the men that worked with him.

Not being able to take the scorching heat, Blaine took off his blazer and began to loosen his tie, but stopped immediately when his father glared at him from the corner of his eyes, without disturbing the conversation he was having. The last thing he needed was a scolding from his father about how proper gentlemen should behave, so he took a sip of his water, and tried to drone out the redundant chatter, wishing that Wes, David or God forbid Thad were not on vacation.

Just as his idle daydreams were commencing he felt a quick and sharp pang on his arm.

"_Blaine_, pay attention," his father half whispered half scolded. Blaine looked to his mother, who was giving him an annoyed look.

"Listen to your father Blaine, Pastor Collins is speaking," Maria Anderson told her son, softly but forcefully.

The congregation was usually subjected to some form of local entertainment, on special occasions or holidays, but more often than not, Pastor Collins made some sort of announcements about donating to the parish or about organizations held at the parish.

"-and now without further ado, let us make one of newest patrons feel welcome!"

Blaine followed suit in the subtle applause, as his eyes looked directly to the riser and he felt his mouth go dry. She had to have been the _most beautiful girl_ Blaine had ever seen, which was saying something, because Blaine never paid much attention to girls in general. But this girl, she was _lovely_. He wasn't sure if it was the way her golden hair was illuminated by the rays of sun coming through the window, making it look like gold or that even from where he was sitting he could see that her eyes were the most incredible shade of bright green. She was unlike any other girl he had ever seen, she was so, _real_, _pure, _and just_ beautiful._ Blaine was so busy staring at her delicate the delicate features of her heart shaped face, that he didn't hear the familiar tune beginning to play or even noticed that the girl had a microphone in her hand. But then she began to sing.

_The moment I wake up  
>Before I put on my makeup<br>I say a little prayer for you  
>While combing my hair, now,<br>And wondering what dress to wear, now,  
>I say a little prayer for you <em>

The mysterious golden girl swayed her hips ever so slightly and shaking her shoulders, as she gripped the mic stand, somehow managing to appear incredibly confident and modest all at once. She lit up the entire room.

_Forever, forever, you'll stay in my heart  
>and I will love you<br>Forever, forever, we never will part  
>Oh, how I'll love you<br>Together, together, that's how it must be  
>To live without you<br>Would only be heartbreak for me._

The occupants of the hall clapped politely, pointed glances flitting around the room as the blonde haired girl finished her song. She gave a brief and elegant curtsy, lifting out the side of her light blue sundress. Blaine's eyes followed her as she returned to a table near the front to with who he assumed were her parents; both of them equally as blonde.

"Let's give Miss Fabray another round of applause everyone!" Pastor Collins exclaimed enthusiastically. "And give the Fabray family, the newest members of our humble congregation a warmed welcome!"

Blaine stopped listening to Pastor Collins, his eyes completely glued to the beautiful girl, her cheeks flushed pink, yet the expression in her eyes twinkled with pride at the several nod of approval, and a few compliments from the usually never pleased members of the parish.

Blaine smiled to himself; maybe all was not lost this year after all. He had found the Warblers their new star.

* * *

><p>AN: sorry it's a bit short, but this had to stand alone. next chapter should be coming very soon.

~d.f.p


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Just a reminder that this story will evantually contain mature content and dark themes. It has been rated M for a reason.**

**~d.f.l.**

* * *

><p>It had become common knowledge in the past year throughout the state of Ohio, that school boards were cutting programs and budgets left, right and center. Anything to do with the arts was being practically eliminated Barely any public school in the state had a board funded arts program anymore, complaints and outrage were far and in-between, yet the board officials, claimed that despite the outcries of the public, a precarious incident; that would remain nameless, prevented them from funding the arts.<p>

Blaine knew it would only be a matter of time before Dalton Academy followed in the footsteps of the public schools, diminishing the few art programs they had, or even cutting all non athletic extracurricular programs. Even though the idea of Dalton shutting down was slim; the amounts of alumni donations were ridiculously high and no resident of Westerville with enough money would ever consider sending their child to "common school". Yet, the Board of Trustees, still desperate to save money, but not cause an uproar of angry parents, had decided to merge Westerville's single sex private schools. Dalton Academy and Crawford Country Day would continue to operate independently, but share the same campus.

Upon this discovery at the final school assembly of the year, the boys of Dalton Academy had celebrated in sheet delight. Hoots, cheers and lewd remarks had been heard throughout campus of the impending arrival of the ladies next fall. But Blaine had not been able to marvel at the idea of female company during his school days. He had been too occupied in reeling about the almost inevitable disbanding of the Warblers.

The Warbler council called their last meeting of the year to order after the assembly and quickly laid down the news to the choir. The three seniors at the head table had explained that after much disappointment of loosing Sectionals yet again in the past competition season, and the graduation of nearly half the group; the Warblers' legacy would be thinning to nothingness. Blaine had felt the ground nearly fall from underneath him as the council bore the news. As much as he loved Dalton, and playing lacrosse; music, performing, the Warblers was what he lived for. The feeling of being on a stage, singing his heart out was glorious, every unwanted feeling bursting and projecting from his veins. He needed it. And there was no way in hell that the Warblers would be over, not if Blaine Anderson had anything to say about it.

Immediately after the meeting, Blaine along with his best friends; Jeff and Nick, who, like Blaine needed the Warblers far more than any sports teams they played for had marched straight into Headmistress Archibald's office. All feelings of pride aside, the three boys had practically grovelled on their hands and knees for the Warblers to be given another year. With a reluctant sigh, Ms. Archibald, told them, yes they could be given another year, but the Warblers had to at the very least place at the regional level, and their set list had to be approved by herself and the Board of Trustees, they would no longer be able to perform inappropriate material. She had said this staring pointedly at Blaine, who blushed at the memory of breaking out into Rod Stewart's _Do Ya Think I'm Sexy_ at Alumni Dinner that past spring.

The entire first month of summer, Blaine, Jeff and Nick had tried desperately to come up with ways to save the Warblers, but most of their "meetings" usually resulted in a jam session in Blaine's backyard or Nick's bedroom. And the days they actually discussed the subject, the new rule of a mandatory duet brought them down. Yet on one particularly sticky afternoon, the three friends had just finished rocking out to Katy Perry's new song in and Jeff had started talking about the prospect of getting a steady girlfriend that went actually went to his school, that the solution hit Blaine square in the nose.

The Warblers needed girls! Girls to sing duets with. Girls that would be going to their school! Blaine had begun grinning like a mad man and gripping the side of his untamed curls and rapidly telling his friends about his idea. Jeff and Nick both agreed immediately, chiming in their own ideas, and together formulating what they thought was their epic plot to revolutionize show choir as it was known! They were going to ditch the bird name and the do oping, get some girlfriends – that girlfriends being mostly Jeff and Nick's idea – and take Nationals by storm.

* * *

><p>Blaine could only smile to himself on the drive home from the country club, bright green eyes and a show stopping smile fleeting through his smile. <em>Quinn Fabray.<em> He loved the way her name – which he had learned through careful eavesdropping - so easily rolled off his lips. _Quinn, Quinn, Quinn._ Yet, it wasn't just her remarkable golden beauty that had Blaine reeling. Her voice. God, her voice. Soft, sweet, delicate. Yes, she lacked the richness of an alto, and the shrill range of a soprano, but that didn't matter, she didn't need it. She had confidence, she had presence, and damn it she could light up an entire room just with the glimpse of a smile in her eye and make Blaine Anderson look twice at a girl. If she could sell the song and sell the arrangement, that's all that matter.

As soon as he arrived home and escaped his mother's pestering, Blaine holed himself up in his room and began to search his trusty friend the internet for information about the mysterious angel girl; Quinn Fabray.

He didn't find out as much as he wanted to, much to his sheer disappointment. Her heavily private facebook profile that he had found through a friend of a friend of a friend only displayed that Quinn Fabray was currently a student Crawford Country Day and that prior to that attended a ballet school somewhere in West Virginia. The only picture Blaine could view of Quinn was clearly a motion shoot during a ballet performance, her arms gracefully placed, and her feet in those crazy toe shoes. Blaine didn't know a whole lot about ballet, but God did he ever appreciate it. He and his mother went out to the theatre whenever she was home, which as he had grown older, had become rarer.

* * *

><p>Sunday dinners, a tradition, that much to Blaine's dismay that had not become rarer, but in turn grown more awkward over the years. Unless someone was joining them, the three of them; Kevin, Maria and Blaine sat in silence at the dining room table, the only noises were the scraping of cutlery against ceramic. Tonight, however was different. Kevin Anderson was, for the first time Blaine had seen his father do in years, speaking animatedly to his wife. Blaine listened to his parents as he sat down at the table, not even noticing he was late. They were discussing something to do with his father's company.<p>

The Anderson family, descendants of a unit of the Irish mafia owned a highly successfully pharmaceuticals firm. Blaine's father ran the branch that was situated in the Midwest, constantly traveling back and forth between Ohio, Illinois and Missouri. It wasn't until his father dropped the name_ Fabray_, did Blaine start to pay close attention.

"I should have hired Russell Fabray sooner, he's probably the best thing that's ever happened to the firm,"

"And Judy is simply wonderful, most agreeable woman I've ever met," Maria chimed in. "Their Quinn is quite the crowd pleaser, don't you agree Blaine,"

Blaine nodded, trying not to smile at the memory of beautiful angelic Quinn.

"I hear she's very much accomplished. She was one of the principle dancers at that ballet school she went to in Charleston, and they even cast her in the spring ballet at Crawford. We'll have to catch their next show this year darling,"

"Yes, of course mother," Blaine replied distantly, his thoughts transfixed on the thought of Quinn gracefully twirling about on a stage, looking like an angel.

* * *

><p>As soon as dinner had finished, Blaine settled himself into his room and sat down at his keyboard. It wasn't nearly as good as the baby grand in the drawing room, but it had a decent sound at the right settings and Blaine preferred to keep his song writing to himself. It was still fairly new to him, although his notebook was running out of pages and he had three binders full of sheet music, covered in scribbled chords and phrases.<p>

Blaine winced as his blistered fingers – thanks to the guitar Jeff had made him take up that summer – ran over the black and white keys. Despite the sting, Blaine closed his eyes and began to play a simple melody, the few chords he began with drifted delicately into phrases.

_Why can't you see_

_What you're doing to me_

He sang the first words that came to mind softly under his breath, emerald eyes dancing through his mind, imagining running his hand through soft blonde hair. A pure golden face.

_I'm under her spell_

_Everything is falling_

_But I don't know where to land_

_Everyone knows who she is_

_But she don't know who I am_

* * *

><p>Laying in his bed, and sees her in the world of his imagination. The sun beating down on her beautiful face, golden hair fanned out in a green grassy field. Eyes sparkling like emeralds in the light. Blaine hopes that he will dream of the sun tonight, of green fields and Quinn, laughing and smiling under the burning sun, golden hair blowing in the warm August breeze. Blaine whispers her name as he closes his eyes, her face in his mind.<p>

But the sun sets in his mind and the sky darkens. The moon's crepuscular light shines down on a lithe body, smooth creamy white skin rubbing against him, long delicate fingers running through Blaine's untamed curls. Soft breathy moans echo in the poignant silence and haunted, expressive blue eyes, clear as crystals illuminated intently in the moonlight.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I have two long chapters to make up for it :)**

**Dedicated to my awesome friend Amber! Hope you enjoy hun :)**

* * *

><p>August lulled lazily into September, the unbearable heat began to fizzle out into a cool autumn breeze. The large red bricked building of Dalton Academy looms in the background as the first few students begin to trickle in through the large iron wrought front gates and into the courtyard. For the first time on Dalton soil, boys and girls mingle together. There are about five different groups scattered, some awkwardly chatting about classes and how to get around the school and others clearly taking advantage of the co-ed campus. Quinn Fabray frowned at the frivolity of her schoolmates, hoping that they wouldn't be in their hormonally repressed state the <em>entire<em> day.

Quinn tugged her already fitted blazer closer to her and wrapped her green scarf tighter around her neck as the cool autumn breeze brushed through the trees and walked through the sea of navy and red. Adjusting her messenger bag on her shoulder, Quinn walked onto the new Crawford/Dalton campus, high heeled dress shows clicking on the cobbled stone ground, the red crinoline underskirt swishing under her slightly hemmed light blue kilt. She kept her emerald green gaze erect, ignoring a discourteous catcall from a boy that was already being led away by a disgruntled staff member. It was only 8:30 and Quinn missed the safe, uncomplicated environment that was single sex educational facilities.

The Crawford campus had been in a quaint Victorian mansion, 5 blocks away from Dalton. It was easy enough to find ones way around and Quinn had fallen in love with the place during her semester. The décor was simple yet tasteful, the teachers were kind and the girls weren't overtly catty. She had been well liked among the other girls, and as much as Quinn had adored Crawford and quite liked Carly and Serena; the two girls she shared a barre with during ballet club, Quinn missed Charleston.

She missed her grandparent's warm yellow house on Burgundy Lane, with the backyard filled with lilies and roses; she missed the tight knit dance department at Anne Meyer's Academy for the Arts. Quinn yearned to have that simple happiness back in her life. She should have known it was too good to be true, because she as her parents promised her before the move, her dad got a permanent job in Ohio, causing the three Fabrays to move back to the Buckeye State.

It wasn't that Quinn hated Westerville; she actually quite liked the ritzy suburban town, and had secretly been glad to move there. The new house on Washington Street was beautiful, with a wraparound porch, colonial pillars and a white picket fence. Her bedroom, that overlooked the backyard, even had a window seat, where she could curl up after dinner and read.

What Quinn hated was the disruption of her routine. She was royally pissed off about the fact that Dalton and Crawford were being merged into one campus. The one thing she loved about Crawford was the fact that it was so exclusive and private. Now Quinn was being thrust back into the world of co-ed education, a world that had hoped wouldn't reappear on her radar until college came along, but here she was, trying to make sense of the twisting and turning corridors of Dalton Academy, which unlike Crawford had been, was massive in size and quite easy to get lost in.

The school day had gone by easily enough for Quinn, despite the different building, the girls' classes were in a completely separate wing of the school and that the teachers had trouble controlling the girls who continually blabbed about their male peers or being repeatedly asked to adjust the length of their kilts. During lunch hour Quinn, had retreated to the secluded table of the cafeteria with the girls who had been in ballet club with her at Crawford, thankfully Serena, Carly, and Natasha weren't horridly boy crazy and Quinn was able to enjoy her salad in relative peace, while Serena and Carly kept eyeing a group of boys at a table on the opposite side of the cafeteria, whispering excitedly about a cute Asian boy and his dark skinned friend. Quinn rolled her eyes at them playfully and kept to herself that they did seem kind of cute.

* * *

><p>"Um, hey,"<p>

Quinn turned around from her locker, science text book still in hand to see a boy she had never seen before standing in front of her. The boy, the picture perfect example of the word dapper, with meticulously smoothed hair and perfectly pressed uniform was nervously chewing at his lower lip, bright hazel eyes looking to the floor.

"Hi," Quinn stammered out, as his eyes met her for a brief moment. "Do I know you?"

"No, not exactly," There was a few moments of awkward silence, the boy tapping his foot lightly on the dark wooden floor in the almost empty corridor. "I'm uh Blaine by the way," He extended a hand. Quinn accepted it cautiously; it was moist with sweat and calluses felt rough against her hand, but almost ghostly familiar.

"Quinn, Fabray,"

I know who you are" he replied quickly. "I mean, I know, I heard you sing at King's Island, in August,"

Quinn raised her eyebrows in bewilderment. She was really trying to forget that embarrassing moment that her mother had set up for her. She had sung the first song she could think of that she actually knew all the words to, not that there were many.

"You have an incredible voice," Blaine said quietly, his cheeks glowing pink.

"Thank you," Quinn stammered out, she found Blaine's awkward, timid presence endearing, cute almost, and he had really nice eyes, and a great jaw line.

"I know this is sudden and kind of awkward frankly, but I need your help and well, your voice,"

"Okay…"

"I was wondering if you would audition for the Warblers," Blaine says, biting at his lips again.

"Aren't the Warblers an all _male_ acapella group,"

"Well yes, no, not exactly, anymore. Look, I'm sorry for bothering you, Quinn, but the Warblers, we need you. Me and a few friends are trying to push for a co-ed show choir, now that Crawford is part of Dalton. If we don't place at Regionals this year, administration is cutting the program,"

Quinn was taken a back at the seriousness of Blaine's tone. He seemed genuinely distraught at the idea of losing the singing group. Quinn felt a surge of pity in her heart, as she studied his sad golden eyes.

"I'm really sorry Blaine. I'm flattered that you're asking, really. But I don't know if I'll be able to. With school and ballet club and everything…"

"Please Quinn," Blaine said, almost beseechingly. "It's just an audition, for the council. They might not even go for the idea, probably won't even make you sing. Please,"

Quinn's logic was whispering herself to say "no sorry, too busy" to Blaine. She had never taken singing seriously, nor did she think she was that good at it, even with singing for church and the few vocal lessons from when she lived in Charleston. But nonetheless, Quinn found herself saying yes to Blaine, whose sad puppy like face had broken out into a blinding, ear splitting smile, saying to come to the Senior Commons on the east side of campus tomorrow at 3:15 sharp, and not to worry about song selection. Quinn laughed quietly to herself as she watched Blaine bound and almost skip down the corridor after quickly exchanging phone numbers. She scolded herself for finding his child like enthusiasm completely adorable, and for finding his eyes so pretty.

After arriving home and insisting to her mother that school had gone fine, and to be called when dinner was ready. Quinn holed herself up in her room, shrugging off her blazer, and laying it carefully on the chair of her desk. She dug through the box of records she had bought at a small second hand record store in Charleston and placed her favourite Sinatra on the old record player her daddy had let her keep. Just as _Fly Me to the Moon_ began to play quietly, Quinn's cell phone vibrated, she picked it up off her bed and immediately smiled, and chuckled to herself to see about 5 text messages from Blaine thanking her for agreeing to audition.

"Blaine," Quinn said softly to herself, as she changed out of her uniform, putting it away neatly, and exchanging it for yoga pants and a t-shirt.

Blaine was a nice name. For a nice boy. Even though Quinn stubbornly tried to deny it to herself, Blaine was good looking, dapper in a sense, reminding her of classic actors from the golden era. She found his entire disposition completely endearing and genuine, unlike the crude boy from the courtyard. But at the same time, there was something about him, which Quinn found, ghostly familiar. She thought it was the way his calloused hand felt in hers; firm, yet soft. Or the frame of his silhouette as walked away from her down the corridor.

Even hours after dinner, when Quinn was lying on her blue bedspread, her worn copy of _Wuthering Heights_ in her hand, the eerie familiarity of Blaine couldn't escape her. It was like remembering the childhood that faded off like a dream into the distance of her mind. In frustration, Quinn climbed off her bed and took the Buddy Holly record off the record player, and let herself fall back onto her bed, wishing for a deep sleep to overcome her, so the image of Blaine would trickled out of her thoughts.

* * *

><p><em>The gust of air was unnaturally warm as the powdery snow trickled from the bright navy sky, the stars twinkling dimly in the distance. There are two figures, their features hidden from the illumination of the stars and lights of the windows by the shadow of a great falcon statue. Both are visibly male, one slighter taller than the other, their bodies are pressed together in a tender embrace. The taller of the two begins to pull away, the other, trying, desperately to clutch his companion closer to him. A faint echo of a tune is carried in and out quickly as the warm breeze that carries it. The men clasp hands, slowly emerging from the shadows, their faces still hidden in a cast over of darkness. They approach an edge, stepping onto the ledge together. Their heads turn to look at each other, faint whispers are exchanged, hands clasp tighter. <em>

_Suddenly, the warm breeze becomes unbearably hot; the stench of burning wood and flesh fills the air, angry voices sounding from depth bellow, chanting hate filled slurs over and over and over._

_"Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn," _

_Giving one last glance, and last embrace, the pair peer over the edge, flames glow and piercing screams can be heard over top of the chants._

_"Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn,"_

_The couple wraps their arms around each other tightly, like a bird wrapping her wings around her young, clutching desperately, as if some strange outside force was trying to rip them apart._

_On top of the hate spewing chant, soft lingering whispers are heard. _

_"I'll never say goodbye to you,"_

_And with just one small movement of their feet, they fall. Into the hateful burning hell bellow them, the scalding nothingness swallowing them whole. Their piercing screams echo in the darkness._

* * *

><p>Quinn give a blood curdling scream into the deafening blare of her alarm clock. She feels sweat trickle down her forehead, over the bridge of her and the blankets in a wild disarray all over the floor. Breathing deeply she half drags herself to the window and pushes it open. The cool air refreshing on her face, tendrils of hair blowing in her face, Quinn has never been happier to be awake.<p>

It had been years since she had a dream, a nightmare like that. A shiver crept down her spine, visioning the two figures jumping off the ledge into the flames bellow. Quinn was glad that she couldn't remember more, the image her memory retained was enough to keep her on edge as she tried to go through her morning routine.

She left the house flawless as always, every hair in place, uniform accessorized down to the last detail, serene composure on her face as she entered through the open wrought iron gates onto campus. Carly and Natasha greeted her in the courtyard, she listened quietly to their conversation, dropping her wit every now and again. Yet her mind was still reeling with the sound of screams and the rancid smell of burning flesh.

The midst of her thought was distracted by the memorable flash of golden hazel. Quinn couldn't help but smile at the sight of Blaine, dapper as always, leaving his friends, one blonde, the other dark haired to trail ahead of him and make his way over to her. She met him half way in his direct path toward her, the red crinoline of her underskirt, swishing as she walked.

"Hi," Blaine starts a small smile on his lips. "You ready,"

"Of course," Quinn answers, even though she definitely was not ready.

"Great," he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, I, um, my friend Jeff brought his guitar, I can do the accompaniment, if you wanted, I mean, if you're still doing the song you told me, that is,"

Quinn smiled, trying to stifle a laugh and Blaine's ridiculous politeness. "Yea, I'd like that," Blaine's hazel eyes met hers directly, he stared at her for a moment, the murmuring of the courtyard still buzzing around them, Quinn could feel her heart begin to beat a little bit faster.

"I'll, um see you later then," he finally says interrupting the racing of Quinn's heart slows down to a pitter patter.

"Yea," Quinn says lamely, and mentally slaps herself for sounding like such an idiot as Blaine walks away, joining a group of boys that were started to go through the front doors.

"Don't say anything," she snaps at Carly, who was about to make some sort lewd comment, stalking away, Carly and Natasha trailing behind as the bell begins to clang.

* * *

><p>Quinn never gets nervous. She hasn't for years. Not when she performed lead in Crawford's production last year, not even when her mother made her sing that ridiculous song in front of the entire church last month. Yet, the wide oak doors of the Dalton Senior Commons stand dauntingly in front of her. Butterflies roll around in her stomach, as she glances down at the time on her cell phone. <em>3:13<em>. She doesn't know why, maybe because she' about to sing one of the only songs she knows the words to in front of an audience. Maybe it's because the audience is room full of boys, who she doesn't know, save one.

"Don't be a chicken Fabray," she scolds to herself as she straightens her blazer and tie, and checks her face quickly in her compact before pushing the great double doors open in front of her.

The Senior Commons is a beautiful Victorian styled sitting room, but Quinn doesn't have the time to notice because rooms of about 10 navy blazer clad boys are staring at her. Quinn is more than grateful when a warm familiar voice speaks up.

"Quinn, so glad you decided to join us," Blaine smiles warmly at her.

"Warbler Blaine, is there a reason, you seem to have invited a female classmate to a private Warblers meeting," retorts a boy sitting at a table at the front of the room, along with the Asian and African American boys that Carly had been fawning over the day before.

"Yea, why is there a girl here?"

"She your girlfriend, Blaine?"

"Are we allowed to bring our girlfriends to meetings now?

"Let Blaine explain himself!"

"This is a kangaroo court!"

"Trent, could you shut up about the damn kangaroo," Quinn recognizes the blonde boy, with long bangs covering his eye. "It wasn't funny when you said it last year, so it's not funny now dude,"

The Asian boy bangs incessantly on his wooden gavel yelling for order until the room has quieted down to a dull whisper.

"Thank you Wes," Blaine nods to him gratefully. "David make sure everything I'm about to say goes down in the official minutes," He takes in a breath, composing himself. "As you all know, the Warblers have been graciously given another year, to prove to the administration and the Board of Trustees, that it is a viable program. In order to do so we must place in the Regional Show Choir Competition. And despite the talent that this room possesses, we are going to lose at Sectionals again,"

The room breaks out in to gasps of disbelief and Wes once again bangs on his gavel for order.

"I am incredibly grateful for the belief you all gave me last year as a junior member to lead you all in song, but from the competition that we faced last year and what the Show Choir discussion blogs have been saying, I just know that I, that we can't beat them on our own," Blaine looks over at the blonde boy and the other dark haired boy sitting next to them. "Which is why I propose, along with Warblers Jeff and Nick, that we reinvent ourselves, and take advantage of the recent merging of Dalton with Crawford Country Day and create a new co-ed show choir,"

"What!"

"That's absurd,"

"Shame to the Warblers' legacy!"

"Point of order, point of order," the brown haired boy standing next to Blaine begins to exclaim!

"Everyone just shut up!" The room silences, all eyes transfixed on the blonde.

"Thank you Jeff," Blaine replies gratefully.

"Based on this idea that Jeff, Nick and myself have created, I had the pleasure of discovering Miss Fabray here," Quinn feels heat rush as her presence in the room is re acknowledged and Blaine gives her a small smile before continuing. "I happen to know firsthand, that she has a lovely voice, and has everything that a female lead requires, and if you would take the time to listen to her sing, I'm sure you would all agree with me,"

"Alright, let's take a vote," Wes speaks up. "All in favour of Warbler Blaine's propsosal to allow Quinn Fabray to audition,"

Almost all hands are raised around the room, excluding the boy who had been shouting absurd remarks about kangaroos and the brunet sitting on Wes' right side.

"Majority rule. All right Quinn, show us what you can do,"

Blaine is handed a guitar by Jeff and Quinn swallows thickly, transferring her weight nervously from side to side. He gives her a reassuring smile, as if to tell her to relax and that she's going to be amazing. As he begins the first chords Quinn prays to God that she won't forget the words.

_Fly me to the moon  
>Let me play among the stars<br>Let me see what spring is like  
>On a-Jupiter and Mars<br>In other words, hold my hand  
>In other words, darling, kiss me<em>

The familiar words of her favourite song, give Quinn a unique sense of calm, which even her favourite _port de bras_ exercise doesn't usually give her. She finds herself looking at Blaine as she sings, smiling at his utterly adorable concentrated stare at the guitar; his fingers magically caress the strings.

_Fill my heart with song  
>And let me sing for ever more<br>You are all I long for  
>All I worship and adore<br>In other words, please be true  
>In other words, I love you<em>

_Fill my heart with song_  
><em>Let me sing for ever more<em>  
><em>You are all I long for<em>  
><em>All I worship and adore<em>  
><em>In other words, please be true<em>  
><em>In other words, in other words<em>  
><em>I love ... you<em>

As the chords come to an end, the Warblers politely clap, Jeff whispering something to Nick, they're sitting on a green leather sofa.

"Thank you Quinn," Wes says cheerfully. "We'll keep you posted.

She nods awkwardly, giving Blaine a smile before she leaves through the double doors. Yet the curious streak within her leaves the door open a crack and she presses her ear, trying to listen.

_"Like I said, hot and talented,"_

_"Nice jazzy voice, I like her,"_

_"This is show choir, if we're going to go with this insane idea, we at least need a female lead who can belt out notes, not some blonde Barbie who can glide her way through Sinatra,"_

_"Thad kind of has a point Blaine. She hot and can sing but, she's not a belter, is she even a soprano?"_

_"It doesn't if she can belt out notes or have a Broadway range. Hell, it doesn't even really matter what song she sings. It's all about the arrangement and if she can sell it to the audience, and to the judges. And someone with enough confidence to sing in front of a room full of people, with practically any preparation, has enough confidence to sell just about anything. Which is why a propose that Quinn be lead vocalist opposite me,"_

_"This is absurd!"_

_"Jeez, could everyone just shut up!"_

_"As much as you have a point Blaine, in order to even consider to have Quinn sing lead with you, the council would need to hear you sing, together,"_

_"That can be arranged, give them two weeks!"_

_"Jeff!"_

_"And we'll have a group of girls ready to go!"_

_"Jeff!"_

_"Warblers dismissed. And good luck gentlemen,"_

"What the hell Jeff! We don't even know if she still wants to do it!" Quinn stepped back from the door as it opened, Blaine, Jeff and Nick emerging.

"She came and auditioned, and besides, 2 weeks is plenty," Jeff insisted, Nick nodded in agreement

"Maybe to prepare a duet, but not recruit a whole group of girls to sing! Are you crazy!"

"Maybe a little ambitious, but certainly crazy," Quinn smirked, as she made her presence known to the three Warblers.

"Oh, Quinn, um, the council, they want us to prepare a duet for them they…"

"Along with dancing and singing, eavesdropping is among my many talents," Quinn jibed and Blaine grinned at her fascinated.

"Hot, talented, sneaky and witty. I'm liking this chick even more. Good job Blaine, you have a great taste is girls after all," Jeff quipped.

Blaine grumbled something incoherent and elbowed Jeff in the ribs, who immediately started arguing with Nick about song choices. But he laughed along with Quinn and Nick and Jeff hilarious banter over the effectiveness of Madonna over Katy Perry. Shyly, Blaine and Quinn trailed behind the dynamic duo, shoulder and arm lightly pressed together, sheepish smiles on their faces.

"You, know, when you told me you played guitar a little, I didn't think you meant you were amazing at it," Quinn teased, meeting Blaine's hazel gaze.

Blaine blushed. "I just learned the basics over the summer, you should Jeff, he's the amazing one. I usually stick with the piano,"

"Is there anything you can't do?" she asks playfully.

He chuckled. "Control those two," Blaine gestures to Jeff and Nick, whose banter, may turn into a tackle at any moment.

Quinn giggles a little.

"I could teach a little," Blaine begins after a small period of silence, his voice quivering with uncertainty. "How to play guitar, or piano or something,"

"I'd like that,"

The banter, between Nick and Jeff, based on their polar opposite taste in music; Blaine opting towards Broadway tunes and the classics and Jeff aiming at top 40 hits and indie rock, grew increasingly annoying. In fact, for the entire first week consisted of Nick and Jeff changing their minds. If it wasn't the song choice, it was the arrangement, and if it wasn't that it was not in her or Blaine's natural key.

Quinn couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous they were and continually reassuring to Blaine, who was constantly apologizing, hiding his face behind a pillow of his living room couch, that it was fine.

In the midst of it all, Blaine and Quinn found themselves talking. It started off with music, when Quinn playfully teased Blaine for being a Buddy Holly look alike. And soon enough the pair found themselves bonding over their mutual obsessive love for Frank Sinatra and anything that was originally produced on vinyl.

* * *

><p>"You know what?" Quinn asks Blaine one day. She's curled up on her window seat and they're on the phone. It's long after Quinn left Nick's house from another useless rehearsal.<p>

"What?"

"Even after all this time, and all the times you've heard me sing…I've never actually heard you sing, not properly anyways,"

Blaine laughs a little, Quinn can tell even through the phone that his eyes are crinkled in the corners and she knows that he's sitting crossed legged on his bed, untouched Physics homework strewn to the side. "Yes you have, today at lunch,"

"You trying to imitate Pastor Collins' attempt at covering Katy Perry is hardly hearing you sing,"

_"_Oh come on Quinn. You know you loved it,"

"If by loving it you mean, felt embarrassed for you, then yes, I adored it,"

Blaine chuckles a bit. "How about an encore performance! _Baby you're a FIREWORK!," _

Quinn has to hold the phone away from her ear as Blaine pretends to hit a high note.

"No seriously Blaine," Quinn says as soon as she hears him laughing hysterically. "Can you sing me something, please," she draws out her plea, pretending to sound like child.

"Ugh fine," Blaine pouts, even though Quinn knows he's smiling. "But it'll sound really bad over the phone and"

"Just sing Blaine,"

"Ok ok,"

_I walked across an empty land  
>I knew the pathway like the back of my hand<br>I felt the earth beneath my feet  
>Sat by the river and it made me complete<em>

_Oh simple thing, where have you gone?_  
><em>I'm getting old and I need something to rely on<em>  
><em>So tell me when you're gonna let me in<em>  
><em>I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin<em>

_And if you have a minute, why don't we go  
>Talk about it somewhere only we know?<br>This could be the end of everything  
>So why don't we go somewhere only we know?<br>Somewhere only we know_

Blaine has a soft but powerful tenor. Quinn's heart beats a little bit faster as he eases through the phrases, the poetic words rolling off his tongue, transporting her far away into blissful nothingness.

_This could be the end of everything  
>So why don't we go somewhere only we know?<br>Somewhere only we know  
>Somewhere only we know<em>

There is a silence, the only sounds Quinn hears are Blaine's heavy breathing and her heartbeat hammering against her chest.

"Are you busy Saturday?"

"What?" Quinn's voice is a little raspy.

"Do you want to rehearse on Saturday," Blaine stammers. "With me,"

"Yea, sure of course, let me just text Jeff and Nick…"

"Wait," His tone is urgent. "I was kind of hoping, for it to be just, the two of us,"

"Oh," Quinn wants to hit herself in the face, even she; with as much boy experience as a 2 year old know that _oh_ is not the most appropriate response for Blaine's request. "I mean, yea, yes,"

"Awesome, I, um, meet me at King's Island tomorrow, at 3. Bye,"

The dial tone buzzes and Quinn's mind is reeling. Blaine Anderson had just potentially asked her out, and she had said yes. A grin crept itself onto Quinn's lips as she jumped off her bed, and put on her favourite Sinatra record, letting the lull of his voice put her to sleep, her dreams of snow covered rooftops and shadowed figures finally lacking the smouldering of hellish flames.


	9. Chapter 9

"So, why exactly are we at King's Island?" Quinn is standing on the familiar built in stage in Banquet Hall 5 where she begrudgingly forced herself through _Say A Little Prayer _in front of a room full of strangers. Just for the strange amusement of her mother.

"No one comes here on Saturday's as soon as the fall starts," Blaine comments, adjusting the guitar case over his shoulder, he's wearing jeans and a red v-neck t-shirt, it's the first time Quinn has seen out of his Dalton blazer. "I thought it would be the perfect place to practice some duets,"

"What about Jeff and Nick?" Quinn asks, picking off an invisible piece of lint from her cardigan, she feels over dressed in her light blue cotton dress. "I thought they were brains of this whole operation, don't we need their approval or something?"

"Since they spend half of their time arguing, I thought we could come up with our own number," He pauses, his hazel orbs meeting Quinn's green ones. "It is _our_ duet after all,"

The silent tension is palpable in the stuffy air of the hall; Quinn can feel it as she watches Blaine lay his guitar case on the piano bench, removing the wooden instrument. He hands her some sheet music, the notes seem like some made up language, the words of the song seem unfamiliar.

"I thought we could do a little mix of what the guys both want," Blaine says putting his well defined arm through the guitar strap. "A little bit of jazz, a little bit of modern,"

"I don't know the song," The heat in her cheeks heat up, her musical knowledge was limited to her vinyl collection of timeless classics.

"Here, let me play it for you, it's on the radio all the time, maybe you'll remember it," Blaine strums the first few chords humming the tune a little. Quinn stares in wonder at the way Blaine's strong calloused hands pluck at the strings.

"Just follow my lead," he says quietly. Blaine is strangely close; his warm breath smells like mint and cherries. "It's really the perfect song,"

_Do you hear me?  
>I'm talking to you<br>Across the water  
>Across the deep blue ocean<br>Under the open sky  
>Oh my, baby I'm trying<em>

_Boy I hear you in my dreams_  
><em>I feel your whisper across the sea<em>  
><em>I keep you with me in my heart<em>  
><em>You make it easier when life gets hard<em>

Quinn tries not to stumble over the words too much, but her heart is pounding against her chest and Blaine is standing unsafely close to her, she can see a small trio of freckles on his jawline and the light brushing of stubble on his face.

_Lucky I'm in love with my best friend  
>Lucky to have been where I have been<br>Lucky to be coming home again  
>Ohhhohhhohhhohhohhohhhohh<em>

_They don't know how long it takes_  
><em>Waiting for a love like this<em>  
><em>Every time we say goodbye<em>  
><em>I wish we had one more kiss<em>  
><em>I'll wait for you, I promise you I will<em>

_Lucky I'm in love with my best friend_  
><em>Lucky to have been where I have been<em>  
><em>Lucky to be coming home again<em>  
><em>Lucky we're in love in every way<em>  
><em>Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed<em>  
><em>Lucky to be coming home someday<em>

Butterflies are raging in her stomach, Blaine's golden hazel stare is intent and direct. His rich tenor voice meshes well with hers. It really was the perfect song.

_And so I'm sailing through the sea  
>To an island where we'll meet<br>You'll hear the music fill the air  
>I'll put a flower in your hair<em>

_Though the breezes through the trees_  
><em>Move so pretty, you're all I see<em>  
><em>As the world keeps spinning round<em>  
><em>You hold me right here right now<em>

_Lucky I'm in love with my best friend_  
><em>Lucky to have been where I have been<em>  
><em>Lucky to be coming home again<em>  
><em>Lucky we're in love in every way<em>  
><em>Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed<em>  
><em>Lucky to be coming home someday<em>  
><em>Ohhhohhhohhhohhohhohhhohh<em>

Blaine is standing even closer; the bulk of his guitar is hard against her chest. Bright hazel eyes and long black eyelashes are all Quinn can see clearly, her heart racing, stomach doing somersault, breathing in the scent of musky cologne, the room is spinning and Blaine's lips were just a fraction away from her's.

Suddenly the sound of clapping fills the tense silence and they jump apart!

"Nice guys, but being sickeningly charming isn't going to impress the council," It's Jeff, smirking smugly at them, his legs propped up on one of the many white table cloth covered tables. "Come on, me and Nick finally have the perfect idea, it's going to be epic!"

Quinn looks over at Blaine, his face is beet red, his eyes menacingly staring down his blond haired friend.

Jeff, Quinn has decided, seriously needs to work on his timing issues.

* * *

><p>"This is completely insane, Jeff is completely insane!" Quinn was pacing back in ofrth in front of an entirely amused Blaine her crinoline underskirt rustling. "I can't believe he's expecting us to go along with this.<p>

"He has a point though, it's the perfect way to impress the student body and get some girls to join," Blaine points out casually, adjusting his tie.

"We could get expelled Blaine," Quinn stresses at him. It was the study hall period at school, Blaine and Quinn plus the majority of the student body are in the small inner courtyard within school grounds, littered at stone tables and benches, the Septemner sun is blistering in the sky.

"Oh come on Quinn!" Blaine places a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be fun!" He's doing that puppy dog pout face and Quinn can barely keep herself from smiling.

Quinn sighs, she can't say no to Blaine and his wide expressive, pleading eyes. "This is entirely yours and Jeff's fault though," Blaine grins broadly, giving a thumbs up to Nick, whose standing above them at an open window on the second floor, Nick signs back some sort of signal and Quinn really can't believe she's actually going to go through with this.

_Now I've had the time of my life  
>No I never felt like this before<br>Yes I swear it's the truth  
>and I owe it all to you<em>

Blaine begins to sing, the rich timbre of his voice as rich and magical as ever, he's more comfortable in his own skin than Quinn has ever seen. She on the other hand, has to will her voice not to tremble.

_'Cause I've had the time of my life  
>And I owe it all to you<em>

The students are starting to flock around them, surrounding them in sea of blue and red. Some are starting to clap their hands along with the beat, some even dancing.

_I've been waiting for so long  
>Now I've finally found someone<br>To stand by me_

_We saw the writing on the wall  
>As we felt this magical<br>Fantasy_

Quinn has to will herself not to start laughing at Blaine's sheer ridiculous performance skills as he jumps atop one of the stone tables. She's eyeing him like his lost his last nut because his eyes are wide like a child's and every expression on his face is over exaggerated to the extreme. There is no wonder in her mind now why he was the Warblers' lead. He was natural performer.

_Now with passion in our eyes  
>There's no way we could disguise it<br>Secretly  
>So we take each other's hand <em>

When Blaine offers his warm hand to help her up on the table with him, Quinn can't help but take it, expulsion be damned.

_'Cause we seem to understand  
>The urgency<em>

_Ohhhhh  
>Just remember<em>

_You're the one thing_  
><em>I can't get enough of<em>  
><em>So I'll tell you something<em>  
><em>This could be love because<em>

There dancing now, on top of the table, swaying their hips together with the tempo, their bodies close, faces flushed with adrenaline, eyes focusing intently on one another, without a care in the world. They don't even notice Jeff parading out a group of girls, conducting their backup vocals with an unsharpened pencil.

_I've had the time of my life  
>No I never felt this way before<br>Yes I swear it's the truth  
>And I owe it all to you<em>

_Hey, baby, hey baby_

Quinn's breath almost falters as Blaine carefully moves a strand of her hair behind her ear and as she notices Carly and Serena winking at her as they hum along at Jeff's direction with a group of other Crawford girls she recognizes from her classes.

_With my body and soul  
>I want you more than you'll ever know<br>So we'll just let it go  
>Don't be afraid to lose control, no<br>Yes I know what's on your mind  
>When you say, "Stay with me tonight"<em>

_Stay with me  
>Just remember<em>

_You're the one thing_  
><em>I can't get enough of<em>  
><em>So I'll tell you something<em>  
><em>This could be love because<em>

_I've had the time of my life_  
><em>No I never felt this way before<em>  
><em>Yes I swear it's the truth<em>  
><em>And I owe it all to you<em>

_Cause I've had the time of my life  
>and I've searched through every open door<br>Till I've found the truth and I owe it all to you_

Even some of the boys are starting to sing along, a few even breaking out into some crazy cart wheels and hand springs outside of the navy and red circle that surrounds the table, Blaine and Quinn on top of it, singing their hearts out.

_Now I've had the time of my life  
>No I never felt this way before<br>Yes I swear it's the truth  
>And I owe it all to you<em>

_I've had the time of my life_  
><em>No I never felt this way before<em>  
><em>Yes I swear it's the truth<em>  
><em>And I owe it all to you<em>

_'Couse I've had the time of my life_  
><em>And I've searched though every open door<em>  
><em>Till I found the truth<em>  
><em>And I owe it all to you...<em>

Cheers erupt from the crowd, as the song comes to an end, Quinn looks around her, familiar and unfamiliar faces blurring, all she can focus on is how close Blaine is to her again, his warm rough hands holding her soft ones. His hazel eyes are glowing, cheek tinged pink, breathing heavily, stilling smelling like mint, cherries and cologne.

"Would it be entirely to cheesy if I asked you out right now," he saying quietly, not quite meeting her gaze.

"Entirely" Quinn begins, a smile playing on her lips. "But only because I'm saying yes,"

Blaine's eyes widen instantly and he's smiling broadly at her. Quinn's breath catches as Blaine's lips ever so softly kiss the corner of her mouth.

Quinn makes a mental note that she would definitely need to thank Jeff later, because it really was the perfect song

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hoped you enjoyed! **

**P.S Reviews are love :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry for the late update! I hope this super long chapter makes up for it again. **

**Thank you to all the people who I pestered to help me along, especially my new beta: LickNstick**

**And yes...any and all lyric changes were on purpose.**

* * *

><p>In all of the years she has attended school, Quinn has never been sent down to the principal's office. Not once. Ever. From day one she has always been the student that spoke little but achieved great, always the teacher's favourite, never a toe out of line. Yet her she is, barely a month into her junior year sitting in Headmistress Archibald's office, for leading a flash mob during study hall. Blaine is in the chair next to her, his face void of emotion, eyes resembling that of a scared deer. Jeff and Nick are also present, standing behind them along with Wes, David and Thad. The group of girls Jeff had recruited and a rather large handful of students are most outside the maple double doors, overflowing out into the hallway. Blaine entwines their hands together, luckily hidden from Ms. Archibald's piercing vulture like glare.<p>

"Mr. Anderson, I believe we have discussed this before. Informal public performances will not be tolerated here at Dalton! As well as the dangerous antics of standing on furniture," Ms. Archibald did not look or sound at all impressed, even more so when Nick tried to surpress a chuckle with a cough.

"And Miss Fabray," Quinn met Ms. Archibald's glare directly. "I am very disappointed in your behavior. A young lady with your glowing academic and social reputation should not be behaving in such a manner. I will be informing both of your parents of this childish incident," Quinn felt Blaine's hand squeeze hers; his face was still blank, and olive complexion stark white. She squeezed back, hoping it would give him some sort of reassurance.

Before the headmistress can continue, Jeff speaks up. "Please Ms. Archibald, it wasn't Blaine or Quinn's fault, the whole thing was my idea I swear!" Nick nods frantically in agreement.

"Mr. Sterling! If you hold any value to your athletic scholarship I suggest you hold your tongue and not interrupt you superiors," Ms. Archibald spits bitterly at Jeff, who withdraws, letting his head drop. Quinn had always wondered why their rehearsals had never taken place at Jeff's home…..

"As I was saying…"

"Headmistress Archibald, excuse me for interrupting," Quinn looks next to her. Blaine, his face no longer in a trance, but calm and almost confident, his fingers are still entwined with hers tightly. "It's my fault. I wanted the council to consider letting Quinn join the Warblers," Ms. Archibald raised an eyebrow. "I wanted to show them that allowing our female classmates to join would better improve our chances at competing this year, permitting the club to be kept running. I was wrong for demonstrating my opinion in such a disruptive manner. Punish me as you will Ms. Archibald, but Quinn, Jeff and Nick are not to blame,"

"Is this true?" No one moved or spoke.

"Blaine's statement is accurate," Wes begins slowly, eyes fleeting between everyone in the room. "He did propose that he and Quinn be the lead vocalists, as well as several other…erm…rather unique requests. The council granted them the chance to audition,"

"Despite, the er, unconventional methods that they,"

"Unconventional! You mean unaccept- Ouch! That hurt,"

"Shut up Thad," David rammed his elbow into Thad's arm causing him to yelp slightly.

"Yea, shut up Thad," Jeff chimed in mockingly.

"Jeff, don't," Nicked urged quietly, gently placing his hand on Jeff's arm. "Your scholarship,"

"Screw my damn scholarship!" Jeff was screeching now, tearing his arm away from Nick's hand. Quinn faintly saw the slight tenderness in Nick's eyes fade, replaced with uneasiness. "I don't give a shit about lacrosse or soccer! The Warblers, music; that's who I am, and who you are and who Blaine is. I'm not going to let Thad or anyone else take that away from us. For the first time we actually stand a god damn chance. They were good, they were really, really good. And if spontaneous break dancing had anything to show for, I'd say everyone else thought so too,"

A poignant silence fills the air. No one moves or speaks. Thad suddenly steps forward. "She's not even that good,"

Chaos erupts. Quinn's eyes are fleeting all around her. Too stunned to move from the red cushioned chair she's sitting on. Wes is imploringly apologizing to Ms. Archibald. While David is attempting to hold Thad in place, to keep him from attacking an animalistic looking Jeff who is currently being restrained by Blaine, who had rapidly got out of his chair to help a struggling Nick. Vulgar profanities are being screeched by both boys and Quinn spots Nick seemingly say something inaudible in Jeff's ear, a hand on his forearm, almost soothingly. The strangely tender action escapes her attention at a shrill scream.

"SILENCE!"

Every pair of eyes turns to look at a fuming Ms. Archibald. David loosened his restraint of Thad, as did Blaine and Nick of Jeff.

"Thank you," she says, surprisingly calm. "Dalton Academy and Crawford Country Day do not tolerate such wild behavior from any of its students. I completely agree with Mr. Harwood. The four of you have broken nearly a dozen school rules, I should expel you immediately," Thad grinned smugly, basking in superiority, ignoring the pointed glares from his fellow Warblers and Quinn. "However, in all my years as an educator, never have I seen a student body so riled up over something! So I have decided, against my better judgment, to give you your choir Mr. Anderson,"

"What?" Blaine is the first to react, hazel eyes wide with amazement, mouth gaping open.

"You're serious Ms. A! Holy shit! Yes! In your face Thad Harwood! We got it Nick! We got it!" Jeff is hollering and jumping up and down and laughing hysterically as if he just won the lottery.

"Language Mr. Sterling!" Ms. Archibald warns coolly, but with a slight smile on her face.

Quinn can't stop herself from grinning like mad, even long after leaving the Headmistress' office, into the sea of students clearly eavesdropping at the door. Jeff and Nick are practically dancing down the hallway with David and Wes cheerily in tow. Thad is unsurprisingly is nowhere in sight.

Suddenly Blaine stopped and robotically sat in on one of the green leather couches that littered throughout various hallways, his eyes still wide with astonishment. Quinn smiles wistfully at him.

"You did it," she whispers to him, sitting beside him, their legs pressed together.

Blaine looks over to her, the glint in his eyes similar from hours before; when they stood too close together, breathing heavily on the stone court yard table, the final notes of the duet echoing into the buzz of students.

The golden orbs are getting closer, so close that Quinn can't see them clearly, the rich musky scent of Blaine's cologne filling her nostrils, strong and unsure hands on the small of her back. "_We _did it," he says, barely a whisper, warm breath on her mouth.

Blaine's full pink lips cover Quinn's properly, unlike in the courtyard before when they barely ghosted over the corner. They're warm and chapped and taste like cherry licorice, mint and something that she can't quite place. But it doesn't matter, because Quinn finally understands what all the fuss is about. The feeling of Blaine's lips lapping over hers, tongues just barely mingling together, it feels wonderful. It feels like they only just started when Blaine pulls away, his hands still placed awkwardly on her waist. He smiles timidly at her, his eyes full of anticipation for her response. Quinn just smiles back, not quite sure what to say.

Their hands are clasped all the way to Quinn's home where he leaves her on the doorstep, after gingerly brushing his lips against her cheek and saying that he will call her tomorrow. It's not until far later, after the excitement has sunken in and the girlish squealing drowned out by her Frank Sinatra record has finished its tenth round, that an unexplainable feeling begins to loom over Quinn's head like a single rain cloud on a warm summer's day. The reality, that even while Blaine's lips had felt remarkable kissing her, a bizarre notion of guilt clouded her mind.

* * *

><p><em>"Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn,"<em>

_The sky is pitch black and the snow falls violently on the rooftop. The putrid stench of burning flesh is carried by the strong blustering winds. Menacing deep chants grow louder and louder. As the figures clasp hands, they fall; their screams piercing overtop of the mantra of voices bellow them. _

_"I'll never say goodbye to you,"_

* * *

><p>The DaltonCrawford Inter-School Choir, horribly dubbed by Headmistress Archibald began two weeks after the courtyard flash mob. For the first ever record in Dalton Academy history, the senior commons contained both boys and girls humming scales and vocal warm ups together. In spite of the popularity of said flash mob, not many girls actually showed up to the audition and several boys quit. Four girls that Jeff had conducted harmonies for had immediately joined without question. Carly and Serena, from ballet club, who really couldn't sing all too well, were more than happy to harmonize in the background and stare at Wes and David, along with two other girls Quinn had never met. One was Joanna, a sophomore with a generic nasally pop voice and Heidi, a small and shy freshman who possessed a rich and powerful contralto range. David recruited a fellow junior named Marissa to audition, she was intelligent and sassy, Quinn liked her straight away, and then even more so when she belted out Aretha barely taking a breath of preparation. Even Thad, began to be slightly less sullen and moody, spending the majority of his time chatting quietly with Heidi.

"We're still one girl short from being even Quinn," Blaine slumped in the piano bench just before their third practice began burying his head into the Lionel Richie sheet music.

Quinn sat herself next to himself, placing a hand comfortingly on his forearm. "We only just started Blaine. Someone else will come and audition, I'm sure of it,"

"Jeff did mention meeting someone who seemed interested…."

She gently brings his face away from the sheet music. "In the meantime, we should practice. Didn't you say you arranged a duet for us to try?"

Blaine smiles at her warmly and nods. He straightens the sheet music on the piano stand and begins to play softly. The other members stop mingling and begin to listen.

_I've been alone with you inside my mind  
>And in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times<br>I sometimes see you pass outside my door  
>Hello, is it me you're looking for? <em>

Quinn joins in at the chorus of the familiar song, her voice meshing and harmonizing with Blaine's. She marveled at Blaine's musical talent, as his hands caress the keys effortlessly, and rarely glanced at the sheet music.

_I can see it in your eyes  
>I can see it in your smile<br>You're all I've ever wanted, and my arms are open wide  
>'Cause you know just what to say<br>And you know just what to do  
>And I want to tell you so much, I love you ...<em>

_Ohh yeahh..._

_I long to see the sunlight in your hair_  
><em>And tell you time and time again how much I-<em>

The oak double doors of the common room slammed shut, causing everyone's heads to turn swiftly to the noise.

"Charming, but kinda boring," Quinn whipped her head around to see a girl leaning against the now closed double doors, Quinn instinctually knew she was bad news. Her kilt was scandalously short, barely covering her behind paired with black leather boots, her white blouse displaying a dangerous amount of cleavage. Quinn would have thought her pretty with her tanned skin and sleek chestnut hair, had it not been for her obvious haughtiness.

"This is a closed rehearsal," Quinn lashed back spitefully.

Jeff stepped forward and Quinn glared at him as he strode over to the mysterious girl. "Annalise! You made it!"

"You know her?" Joanna asked incredulously, eyebrows raised.

"Everyone, this is Annalise Martinez, our newest member," Jeff stated proudly, an arm around Annalise's shoulders as she smirked smugly.

"You can't be serious Jeff," Quinn declared, eyeing her disapprovingly.

"What?" Jeff asked. "We needed another member, preferably a girl, and I got you one,"

"What kind of formal arts background do you have?" Quinn tried cautiously, gaiting away from the piano and Blaine's side toward the Latina girl.

"Ballroom dancing," she states promptly.

"You are aware that this a show choir, glee club, we sing,"

"I'm perfectly aware and I have a killer voice," Annalise drawls. "You better watch your back Barbie,"

"I prefer Quinn actually,"

The room was silent for a moment, tension palpable, Quinn's green eyes piercing into deep brown ones.

"Did you come prepared to audition," Blaine finally voices politely in the silence, he's no longer at the piano, but standing promptly beside Quinn, a hand on her tense arm. "I can play an accompaniment if you wish," Quinn admires him for his being so dapper and polite, not that Annalise and all her vulgarity deserved it.

"Naw, I got it covered doll face," Annalise winks at him and pets the lapel of his blazer. "Thanks though," Blaine begins to splutter incoherently and Quinn grips his hand tightly leading him to a green sofa.

Annalise hands Jeff a CD and strokes his side with mocking affection. The music begins and Quinn silently prayers that she croaks like a frog and Jeff is just blinded by her confident and sultry presence.

The Latina girl radiates confidence as the words of the Amy Winehouse song roll off her tongue. Her voice, much to Quinn's frustration is fantastic. It's deep and rich and has just the right amount of rasp. She circulates around the room, her dark eyes radiating lust at all the boys in the room, running her hands over them as she struts past. All of them, even Thad, stare at her in wonder, like sailors giving in to the seductive siren on the rocks. Blaine seems to be the only one who doesn't show any interest whatsoever, his eyes merely studying her with innocent curiosity.

Her performance ends in a bang and everyone claps whilst murmuring amongst themselves, Jeff is just about jumping up and down in his giddiness, his eyes raking over her curves with desire.

"Welcome to Crawford/Dalton Interschool show choir!" Jeff exclaims triumphantly to Annalise who is examining her nails with a bored expression on her face.

"Thanks. Just let me know when we're going to do some real music," She turning to leave, her kilt flaring out, revealing more of her toned tanned thighs. "Something a little less, stiff next time," Annalise's dark eyes sharpen, her glare stabbing Quinn like daggers.

"See ya 'round Barbie," She spits before strutting out the door, Jeff in her wake, with one last glare toward Quinn.

* * *

><p>Quinn's mind was racing, the floor squeaking in the same place every time she crosses it, vision blurred.<p>

_Guitar, carpet, keyboard, guitar, carpet, keyboard, guitar, carpet, keyboard, guitar, carpet, keyboard, guitar, carpet keyboard…._

_Quinn, Quinn, Quinn_

"QUINN!"

"Hm?"

"You're going to wear a hole in my floor if you keep pacing like that," Blaine is sitting with his legs crossed on his maroon comforter, the top few button of his shirt undone; tie hanging loosely around his neck. "Why don't you just sit down, relax a little,"

"I'm sorry, but I'm kind of stressed here _Blaine_. How can you sit there so idly while that bitch is trying to tear apart all of our hard work!" Quinn continues to pace back and forth across Blaine's somewhat small bedroom, from the guitar stand on the right side and the keyboard in the left corner.

Blaine gives an awkward chuckle. "Don't you think you're over exaggerating just a little bit, I mean, yeah her ideas are little unconventional but…"

"Unconventional!" Quinn shouts angrily, throwing her arms up in the air. "Look I don't care what they did at that criminal school she used to go to! We're a _show choir,_ from a _private school _in _Ohio._ "Hairography" isn't exactly going to work for us,"

"Yea that hair flipping was really weird," Blaine nods in agreement. "But, she kind of had a point, about the dancing bit,"

"Oh so you're taking her side now?" Quinn snaps distinctly remembering who counterproductive practice had gone earlier that day. Every time she had opened her mouth to song the lyrics of _Endless Love_, the new number they were practicing, Annalise went and opened her big mouth. Either it was how lame the song was or how frigid Quinn was and how phony she sounded. Quinn had been ready to tear Annalise's eyes out of their sockets while everyone else made unbiased remarks and Jeff echoed the Latina girl's every word like some pathetic parrot. And even worse, Blaine had nodded every once in a while as if inhaling her unwanted corrections like they matter even just a little. It seemed that only Nick was on her side when it came to Annalise, not even her own boyfriend!

"God, we should have never have let her join. All she does is sit around and criticize all of my decisions. I'm telling you Blaine! She's out to get me,"

"Hey," Blaine stands, grabbing Quinn's hands and guiding her to sit down next to him on the bed. "I'm not taking her side. Not at all," His eyes bore into Quinn's, his thumb rubbing gently circles into her palm. "Yes, she's a little off the wire, but we're really lucky that Jeff got her to join. She has a great voice and she has winning experience. Jane Adam's Academy won second place at sectionals last year. Her opinions should be valued, even if just a little,"

Quinn shifted her hand away from Blaine's soft, soothing thumb and placed them in her lap, not wanting him to see her guilty expression.

"I know you're nervous because she can sing well, but you don't have to worry. You, Quinn are probably the most talented performer that I know, you just shine," Blaine shifts just slightly closer to her, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "Do you remember that waiver that Ms. Archibald made us sign when we started the club? Well, when I read it again last…"

"You actually read that thing?" Quinn raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"Of course I did, and if you actually had taken the chance to read too, you would have seen that the entire group, Annalise included, signed saying that me and you. Blaine Anderson and Quinn Fabray will be singing lead at all competition performances this season,"

Blaine tenderly tucks a stray blonde hair behind Quinn's ear, letting his unsteady fingers rest on her face a little too long, but removes them quickly when Quinn's green eyes turn to his. "You and I are going to kill this thing. Okay?"

"Okay," Quinn manages to whisper in agreement.

Blaine holds her silently, curled up on his bed, the soothing melody of _Moon River_ morphing into slow song she's never heard. Yet even in the new found comfort of Blaine's strong arms, Quinn can't bear the silence, she lets her eyelid close and she pretends that Annalise's jarring criticism doesn't tug at images she has kept locked away underneath dance steps, song lyrics and math equations. She shoves them away like she always does and pretends that the sound of Blaine's steady breaths are all that's seeping through her mind.

_And I don't want the world to see me  
>'Cause I don't think that they'd understand<br>When everything's made to be broken  
>I just want you to know who I am<em>

* * *

><p>With homework, the beginnings of the spring ballet and practicing a new duet arrangement with Blaine that Jeff had found on the internet, Quinn manages to forget about Annalise and her threatening ways. It's not until a gloomy Friday afternoon at choir practice do all the things she has kept stored away under lock and key come to back to haunt her.<p>

_So I travel back  
>Down that road<br>Will you come back?  
>No one knows<br>I realize  
>It was only just a dream<em>

_I was thinking about you_  
><em>Thinking bout me<em>  
><em>Thinkin bout us<em>  
><em>What we gunna be?<em>

_Open my eyes, (Yeah)  
>It was only just a dream...<em>

"Ok everyone, take 5!" Wes announces banging on his gavel as Blaine's piano playing fades.

"Take 5 for what?" Annalise asks, disdain dripping from her voice, glaring at Quinn. "Because swaying and humming in the background while Ken and Barbie sing every song is so God damn tiring,"

Quinn narrowed her eyes, sucking in a deep breath. This had been the 10th time in the past hour, and Quinn had, had enough. "What is your problem exactly," Quinn snaps, stalking away from Blaine's side at the piano toward Annalise.

"I don't know what you're talking about Fabray," Annalise replies smoothly, her dark eyes were menacing.

"You clearly have a problem with something here, since every word that comes out of your mouth either insults me or the songs. If I did anything to offend you Annalise, then please enlighten me and everyone else in the room, because this is ending right here and right now," Quinn is fuming, her eyes glowering at the girl in front of her. The room was silent.

"Do you want to know what my problem is? My problem is that this is all bullshit! First of all, the songs suck. All of them. And it doesn't fucking help that you and hobbit over there sing every God damn one while we sway behind you! Yea, your boy toy has a voice, but you, you're not that good Fabray. You're a frigid uptight little rich girl who can kind of sing because of daddy's cold hard cash,"

"You don't know anything about me or my family," Quinn snarls. "So don't pretend like you do,"

"I don't need to. I can see right through you. But what about the rest of them? What about your boyfriend? What do they know about you besides that you wear way too much foundation and you have a really bad dye job? No one wants a phony as their leader. And that's all you are a big, fat, _fraud_,"

Quinn's head is spinning; her heart is pounding in her ears, Annalise's malicious words hanging in the silence. The memories she had kept locked away for so long as unleashed like the evils of Pandora's Box, swirling viciously in her mind, the memory of the cold purple liquid running down her back makes her shiver.

And then she runs. The double doors are thrown open and she bolts blindly down the hallways, heels clicking, hot tears fogging her vision, spiteful voices echoing in her ears.

_"Freak,"_

_"Watch where you're going fat ass"_

_"Her face is so gross, those zits are nasty,"_

_"Spare tire much, or five,"_

_"Brace face,"_

_"Looks like the hag is without her fag,"_

_"Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey, Lucy Caboosey,"_

She tears the bathroom door open, which is thankfully empty and sinks to the floor. Then for the first time in three years she weeps; her body trembling against the white tiled wall, eyes stinging.

"Quinn?" a muffled voice calls. "Quinn are you in there?' The bathroom door creeks open, the familiar scent of cologne and mint fills her nostrils.

"Please say something," Blaine pleads crouching beside where she is sprawled against the wall. "Anything,"

Quinn says nothing, her eyes remain transfixed on the door.

"I'm sorry I didn't really believe you before," Blaine slides against the wall and settles himself next to Quinn. "Everyone wants to kick her out of the club, even Jeff. She had no right to say those things to you, she…"

"She's right," Quinn finally says, cutting off Blaine's babblings.

"What?"

"She's right Blaine,"

"Please, don't be…"

"I'm a fraud," Quinn mumbles between choking tears. Blaine's eyes soften and he puts a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"That's not true Quinn. You are the most beautiful, genuine girl I've ever met. She's just jealous Quinn. Don't let her get to you,"

They sit there for a few moments in silence, until Quinn allows Blaine to help her up and take her home. When Blaine's silver Mazda parks in front of Quinn's white house, she tells him quietly to come inside. He doesn't question her as they silently enter the house through the columned archway. The house is empty.

He follows her up the winding stair case to her bedroom. He's been here once before for a brief time. The spacious bedroom is still a soft yellow and the porcelain picture of the Virgin Mary is still hung above the head board, looming over them with her sorrowful dark eyes.

Blaine sits on the plush window seat, beside the box of alphabetical ordered vinyl records, the first rays of sun that emerge from behind the clouds against the back of his neck. Quinn wordlessly goes into her walk in closet and emerges with a small wooden box in her hands. She sits as far away from Blaine as she can on the window seat, opens the box just a crack and takes out a small leather bound journal and opens it a crack removes a small black journal.

"Before I moved to Westerville, I used to live in Charleston with my mom and my grandparents, while my dad travelled for his new job at Anderson & Sons. I went to a performing art school there," Her voice is small and hushed and slightly raspy

"Yea that's not a secret Quinn, everyone knows."

She cuts him off and hushes him before continuing, fiddling with the ribbon bookmark of the journal. "Before I moved to Charleston, I lived here in Ohio, a small town called Lima; it's about two hours away from here," Quinn pauses, taking in a small breath and places the small leather bound book in Blaine's lap. He runs his hand over the smooth black leather; the green ribbon book mark is fraying on the ends. On the bottom left had corner he see two familiar words inscribed in gold, with one he has never seen. _Lucy Quinn Fabray. _Blaine furrows his brow and opens to the marked page to the picture of an unfamiliar girl, but when he sees her bright green eyes behind thick round glasses, his breath falters and his mouth opens slightly, trying to form words that won't come to him.

"My middle name is Quinn, I stopped going by Lucy a long time ago because kids made up a mean nickname," She takes the journal out of Blaine's hand as his fingers trail over the unfamiliar face on the photo. "I hated the way I looked. I had zits; I was chubby, felt terrible about myself. I didn't have friends, nobody would talk to me. I was the only kid at school who had to dissect their own frog because nobody would be my lab partner,"

Quinn's voice chokes, green eyes glassy with tears as the cool memories of the past spill off her lips "Then I started working out, lost a little bit of weight, found out I was flexible, then I joined ballet, went on proactive for my acne. And when my dad got transferred and got a raise I asked him if I could get a nose job, and he said yes," Tears are freely tracking down Quinn's cheeks. "Then I asked them to call me Quinn,"

"Do you hate yourself?" Blaine asks quietly, looking up at Quinn from under his eyelashes, trying to picture the sad auburn haired girl from the old photograph in Quinn's angelic face.

_Yes_. "No I love myself. And that's why I did all those things. I've been that girl Blaine, and I'm never going back. I was a miserable little girl,"

They sit in silence, sitting a good foot away from each other, Quinn crying silently, tears dripping onto the journal in her lap, the picture faced down in between them.

"Can you go please," Quinn says, not meeting Blaine's eyes.

He leaves, swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and discreetly slipping the photograph in the pocket of his blazer.

Blaine sits in his car in front of his house unmoving, long after leaving Quinn crying in her room. He stares at the photograph of Lucy – Quinn – Fabray. She must have been only 12 or 13 when it was taken. Her face is rounder but with the same small chin. Hair is a dark auburn, not the golden tresses he knows so well. But her eyes, despite being hidden behind the thick framed glass are still the same piercing green.

He fumbles with the keys on his keyboard, playing the latest rewrite of his somber melody. He hums to what should be the chorus, the words still haven't come to him yet; his mind still reels back to everything Quinn had told him of her lonely former life, every time his eyes caught site of the photo propped up against the sheet music. It could almost be a novel. He can see the synopsis now. A little girl named Lucy on her quest for beauty.

Blaine picks up the picture in his hands and his eyes light up. "_Lucy,_" he whispers and begins to write furiously in his notebook.

_Why can't you see_

_What you're doing to me_

The autumn breeze is cool but refreshing and Quinn wraps her green scarf tighter around her neck and pulls her white beret over her ears. Lincoln Park, across the street from King's Island was her favourite place in Westerville. The gardens were quaint and simple and wooden benches lined the cobblestone pathways. Today, however she had been reluctant to come. She had been more than surprised when she woke up from another terrible nightmare to a text from Blaine asking to meet him in the park that Saturday afternoon. He was probably going to end their short lived relationship, friendship, whatever they seemed to have. Quinn couldn't image someone as genuine and loving as Blaine would want to associate himself with a fraud. She was just about to leave, convincing herself Blaine has come to his sense when she saw him approach her.

Blaine sat down on the bench next to her. His hair had noticeably less product in it, curling softly around his ears, his favourite maroon scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Thanks for meeting me," he says, readjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder. I was hoping, you would let me show you something,"

Quinn nods in reply, and lets him lead the way out of the park, questioning his motives to herself.

"King's Island? What is it with you and this place?" Quinn quips, trying to unleash her usual wit and lighten the awkward silence as they stand in the overly familiar empty banquet hall. "I thought you hated the country club?"

"I do hate the country club. But, they have the resources I need," Blaine smiles lightly, at her , running a hand over the smooth wood of the wooden upright piano. "I'm not really good at talking about my feelings, but the other day when you just opened up to me like that, you…you just, just listen,"

Before Quinn can reply, Blaine is sitting at the piano bench and closes his eyes as his fingers hit the keys.

_I've seen her face, I've heard her name  
>I've lost my place and she's to blame<br>And I can't stand it when I'm starin' in her eyes  
>And she's not lookin' back<br>It ain't big surprise  
><em>

_I've heard music, I've heard noise  
>I wish that she could hear her voice<br>The way that I do when I go to sleep at night  
>And dream my life away<br>But she's gone when I awake_

_Lucy, Lucy_  
><em>Why can't you see<em>  
><em>What you're doing to me?<em>

_The way her hair falls in her eyes_  
><em>Makes me wonder if she'll ever see through my disguise<em>  
><em>And I'm under her spell<em>  
><em>Everything is falling but I don't know where to land<em>

_Everyone knows where she is_  
><em>But she don't know who I am<em>

_Lucy, Lucy_  
><em>Why can't you see<em>  
><em>What you're doing to me?<em>

_I see you singin' on that stage_  
><em>Looking like an angel<em>  
><em>And all I do is pray, that maybe<em>  
><em>One day you'll hear my song and understand that all along<em>  
><em>There's something more that I'm tryin' to say<em>  
><em>When I say<em>

_Lucy, Lucy_  
><em>Why can't you see<em>  
><em>What you're doing to me?<em>  
><em>What you're doing to me?<em>

_Lucy, oh when I say, Lucy_

_Oh when I say  
>Why can't you see<br>What you're doing to me  
>What you're doing to me<em>

As Blaine gently caresses the final keys of his ballad, he cautiously looks out of the corner of his eye to where he left Quinn standing. He can't quite understand the expression on her face; a strange compilation of her tears from yesterday and the golden smile he so desperately desires to haunt his dreams.

"So…" he begins while picking at the dead skin his calloused finger. "Was it, was it too much?" Blaine bites his bottom lip watching Quinn wiping her fingers furiously under her eyes while beaming incandescently.

"Not at all," Quinn is smiling now even though tears are still gently coursing down her face; she takes a few steps closer to him and gently places a hand on his cheek.

Blaine accepts her embrace as she wraps her thin arms around him, breathing in the scent of her almost too sweet perfume. Quinn leans in to kiss him, whispering a barely audible "_thank you_" before closing her lips on his. Blaine lets himself relax into her lips, kissing her back softly, laying a hand tenderly on her waist.

* * *

><p>"So, why Lucy?" Blaine finally asks. He's been cautiously quizzing her about the girl who was Lucy Fabray. They're at the small lush park across the street from King Island, sitting on the bench, hands entwined lightly.<p>

Quinn chuckles. "My dad had an affinity for the Beatles in the 90's, and my sister happened to be reading those Narnia books for school at the time," Her green eyes are shining brightly at the happy memories, Quinn can remember, back to sitting mortified on the couch with Frannie as her dad proudly stated his inspiration for the names of both his daughters to their dinner guests.

"Do you miss anything," Blaine poses carefully, hoping his curiosity wouldn't trigger anything, his few other questions had been mediocre. "About your old life,"

"Breadsticks," Quinn answers almost in a daze of memory.

"Breadsticks?"

"It's a restaurant, in Lima. My parents and I used to go all the time, when we could afford it," Quinn smiles fondly. "They have unlimited breadsticks,"

"I figured as much," Blaine chortles.

Blaine walks Quinn back to her house on Washington Street and kisses her goodbye on the front porch, like he has seen in countless films. She tells him that he's incredibly cheesy when he tells her how beautiful he thinks she is.

When he walks through the door of his own house, he makes his way through the pristinely decorated hallways to his own room. As soon as he enters, Blaine collapses on the bed squirming his way up the mattress to rest his head on the pillow. A picture of Quinn smiling brightly greets him from his nightstand. Blaine takes the picture, admiring Quinn's delicate face. She was the most beautiful girl Blaine had ever seen. She had even made crying look beautiful, tears streaking down her cheeks, like a melancholy angel that fell from the heavens above.

_"I want to fall in love with you, some day," _he had whispered quietly into her hair after she kissed him in the banquet hall, and God did he ever. Blaine wanted to fall in love with this beautiful girl more than anything. He wanted to want her, all of her; her face, her lips, her soul, her body.

Blaine prays, like he has done every night for as long as he can remember, an unbreakable habit. He prays that Quinn's deep green eyes and her radiant smile will plague his dreams when he finally falls into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

><p><em>He shivers, wrapping his arms around himself, the snow in the air is crisp and the wind bites at his bare arms. The night is a dark navy, stars illuminating dimly. Suddenly in the silence, almost inaudible music whistles in the cold breeze and a clear high voice, the sound deafeningly beautiful. <em>

_"Sing for me," The voices whispers, it's so close, and Blaine can feel a warm musky breathe on the back of his neck. _

_Long arms wrap strongly around his waist, pressing his back against an unknown warm body. Blaine wants to pull away, but the warmth and the pure feeling of desire make him lean into the mysterious embrace, letting his head rest against the flat sculpted chest._

_"Sing for me," it repeats the voice slightly deeper this time._

_The figure is suddenly in front of him, long delicate fingers grasping his hand pulling him along. The details of the distinctly male face remain hidden in the shadow of the night, even when facing directly. Suddenly the man's breath is by his ear, hands grasping at his waist, lips caressing his neck, all causing Blaine to shiver._

_"Wildly your mind beats against me,"_

_The lithe man pulls away from Blaine's neck, stepping slightly into the light of the stars. Bright sapphire eyes sparkle in the dim light of the stars._

_"Let your soul obey,"_

* * *

><p>"Are you going somewhere Blaine?" Blaine nearly jumps five feet in the air while turning away from the mirror, almost dropping the tie in his hands. Maria Anderson stands at her son's bedroom door, arms crossed, inspecting Blaine.<p>

"I'm uh, yes mother," Blaine quickly answers, letting his tie drape around his shoulders.

"You know how important Sunday night dinners are to your father, especially when he's home to enjoy them. I'm sure Nick and Jeff will survive without you for their trouble making for one night. Your father and I haven't forgotten that phone call from Headmistress Archibald."

"I'm not going out with Nick and Jeff," Blaine begins cautiously, tying his Windsor knot.

"Oh?" Maria inquires approaching her son.

"I have a date,"

"Really? With who?"

"Quinn Fabray,"

"Quinn _Fabray_? Russell and Judy's girl?"

"Yes, Quinn," Blaine is biting at his bottom lip awkwardly, looking at his mother, waiting for her stern reprimand so that he can cancel with Quinn.

"Well then. In that case, I'm sure your father will understand," Maria is trying to hide an impish grin; she pats Blaine on the arm and slowly backs out of her son's room. "Make sure you're not home too late, and use the MasterCard,"

Maria waits patiently in the dining room, as she hears the front door close quietly and Blaine's car pull out of the driveway. She lights the new raspberry scented candles she bought the other day and sets the table for two with the best China.

"What's all this Mari?" Kevin Anderson asks from the archway that connects the dining room with the drawing room. The sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, hair still slicked back from this morning. "It's a little early for dinner don't you think?"

Maria smiles approaching her husband, even in all the aging stress, he was still handsome, dark hair with few silver strands, the hint of the Irish brood that had charmed her so many years ago still remained. As shallow as it was, it irked her a little that Blaine hadn't inherited Kevin's good looks or anything from the Anderson clan, except her sister-in-law's god awful hair.

"He went out, so I thought we could take advantage of the _alone time,"_

Kevin frowned, creasing his forehead. "Blasted kid. Thinks he can just blow off a family tradition and run off with those hooligans. He's getting a piece of my mind when he gets home,"

"Actually," Maria can't suppress her smirk anymore. "He's on a date,"

"A date," Kevin repeats, raising an eyebrow. "With a girl?"

"Not just any girl. With _Quinn Fabray_,"

"Russell's girl!"

"Mhm, the very same,"

They eat dinner in a comfortable silence, exchanging small talk, and chatting excitedly about how Blaine's date may be progressing. As they discuss their son, and his potential budding romance with the Fabray girl.

"I know I wasn't exactly fond of the idea in the beginning," Maria begins, picking at her food. "But those ridiculous summer camps must have really done the trick,"

Kevin chuckles. "I told you they were just what he needed, to sort him out,"

Maria hums in agreement; everything was finally going down the path she wanted. Kevin still wanted her, her peers we're finally, at least pretending, to treat her with the respect her social rank deserved and her son, her precious Blainers, was on a date with a pretty girl. Never again would anyone ever presume that there was something wrong with her little boy and it was worth every cent.

* * *

><p>The song that Blaine sings to Quinn is actually called Sami by Darren Criss, I changed the lyrics for the purpose of the story.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Trigger: Homophobia, Transphobia**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11<p>

The bright glare of the computer screen burned into Blaine's eyes as he sat and stared at the plain webpage of his favourite search engine. Scraps of scrunched up papers and sheet music were scattered in disarray around his desk. He groaned in frustration into his hands; it had been 4 mindless hours and still he had absolutely nothing. The cell phone to his right tempted him to call Jeff and ask him for help, but cringed at the thought of possibly interrupting him and Annalise…again.

Taking in a breath of concentration Blaine ripped another piece of paper out of his thinning notebook and scribbled "Setlist 2010" on the top, asking himself why he had taken on task that placed the future of the show choir in his hands. The answer of course entailed impressing Quinn Fabray.

_They had been sitting in _Breadsticks_ last Sunday evening in a comfortable silence as they waited for their order. Quinn seems at ease, absentmindedly stirring her drink, her hair glowing in the dim light. Blaine is relieved to see her relaxed, no hints of fear or sadness in her face, just pure serenity. _

_"She's right you know," Quinn began breaking off a piece of a breadstick. "Annalise,"_

_Blaine sighed, he had hoped those thoughts of self hate and insecurity had ran their course. "Quinn, she had no right to say those things, she…"_

_"We suck,"_

_"W-what," Blaine stuttered nearly choking on his salad._

_"Annalise may be a complete bitch, and the only future she really has is working on a pole, but, she had a point. We need a set list. A real one," She smiled nimbly twisted a golden strand of hair around her finger. "As lovely as it would be to sing every song with you. We need group songs or we won't stand a chance against Vocal Adrenaline. The invitational is in less than a month and sectionals is at the end of November, we…"_

"_I'll do it,"_ _Blaine suddenly found himself saying. "The set list. I'll do the set list,"_

_Quinn smiled in sheer disbelief, eyebrows shot up her forehead. "Blaine, you don't need to put all that pressure on yourself, I'm sure if everyone-"_

_"No, don't worry about it. I have a plan,"_

* * *

><p>"Plan my ass," Blaine grumbles to himself, violently clicking on various links on a Midwestern Show Choir forum, eyeing all the comments about Vocal Adrenaline's Amy Winehouse themed invitational last year. Blaine clicks around absent mindedly hoping that perhaps an idea will jump out at him. The last thing he needs is to show up at practice next Thursday empty handed and see Quinn's eyes full of bright expectations shatter. Blaine slams his hands over the keyboard of his laptop and suddenly the screen is loading a new page.<p>

Blaine moans in frustration trying to back space to the 100th page of comments he had been on, but with no avail. All of a sudden the familiar logo of _MySpace _is loaded fully onto the screen and the sound of a familiar tune, yet an unfamiliar voice fills his ears.

_On my own  
>Pretending he's beside me<br>All alone  
>I walk with him till morning<em>

There's a girl standing in a yellow room, with her shapeless lavender blouse, dowdy plaid skirt and has a rather large nose. She is plain, and conventionally ugly, yet her voice radiates something entirely different. It has a theatrical quality to it that reminds him vaguely of a young Barbra Streisand. Besides her rather distracting facial expression, the girl's voice is amazing, extraordinary even, but nonetheless, her talent isn't anything that Blaine hasn't heard before. Despite how ordinary her talent is, the girl is _talented, _exceptionallyso and Blaine can't quite believe that her video only has 2 views, now 3 because of him and the comments make him grimace. The one thing he didn't understand about girls, that Blaine thinks he will never understand is how they could be so mean.

_**Cheerio5542**__: Please get sterilized_

_**SpeeritUnikorn**__: Man Hands!_

_**Latina_Babe69**__: If I were your parents I would sell you!_

Blaine listens to a few of her other videos, mostly Broadway classics before exploring the rest of her profile. The girl; Rachel Berry, 16 years old, attends William McKinley High School and rather obsessed with all things Broadway, Barbra Streisand, and well, if Blaine is being frank; herself. Clearly, by logical analysis, her blatant self absorption must be the reason for the cruel comments and lack of views on her videos. Blaine is no longer surprised at that one, yet, what does surprise Blaine is where the conceited diva that is Rachel Berry is supposedly situated. _Lima, Ohio, _Quinn's hometown from so long ago. But the fact the Lucy Fabray may have been acquainted with Rachel Berry completely misses Blaine's mind, he's too preoccupied processing the fact that the McKinley High School glee club; The New Directions pertain to Dalton and Crawford's section. And according to Rachel Berry's blog, the New Directions "were going to kick some serious butt".

It's about 2 a.m. and Blaine is running on no sleep and coffee and has a piercing head ache. He has a Physics lab, Latin translations and an English report neatly piled on his bed, waiting to be completed. But in all honestly Blaine could give a rat's ass about his homework. The future of the choir is resting on his shoulders, and he's just scouted out the one obstacle standing in their way of winning Sectionals. Especially of Rachel Berry's talent and her boasts about how the New Directions are going to cream Vocal Adrenaline are at all plausible.

* * *

><p>For once in his life, Blaine is thankful for how often his parents are away from home on business, making it easy for him to slip out of the house so he can to beat the traffic on the 1 ½ hour trek to Lima, Ohio. As he passes the familiar welcome sign from the previous night and drives through the quaint winding streets, as they had not driven through the main square, Blaine wonders if any of the sights of this seemingly harmless, simple town is etched in Quinn's memory.<p>

William McKinley High School is rectangular shaped, brown bricked, two story building. An industrial factory in comparison to the sophistication of Dalton Academy. Blaine waits in a parking spot furthest away from the majority of volume; thankfully he had convinced his parents to buy him a simple car for his 16th birthday the previous year. Thankfully no students, who chose to park so distantly gave him a second glance, if any, as they walked by. He was practically invisible. Blaine dared himself to drive a little closer to the main doors, settling himself in perfect viewing distance of the front courtyard. Hoards of students loiter about; the only ones Blaine can pick out clearly are girls wearing red polyester miniskirts and muscular guys in letterman jackets. As soon as the bell buzzes the students begin the filter in through the front doors until they disappear entirely, leaving Blaine the only soul outside. He waits an hour longer, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel before finally emerging from his car and cautiously approaches the school.

The insides of McKinley are about the same as any stereotypical high school Blaine has seen in the movies as he cautiously makes his way through the sparsely populated, locker coated hallways. He's surprised that not a single person gives him a second glance, much less a first. Even with keeping his head down and being inconspicuously dressed surly someone, if not a student, a teacher would have noticed him. Yet, here Blaine is, wandering aimlessly and rather hopelessly lost on the second floor of McKinley High, where he seems to have somehow gotten to in the twists and turns of identical hallways.

The rotation to second period has already passed; the sea of students quickly filling the hallways from end to end, carrying Blaine forward through the crowd. Blaine sighs in relief as the majority of the students file in to their respective classrooms, although he had been hoping to stop one of them, perhaps but on the façade that he was new and needed a direction to the choir room. There he would hopefully catch a glance of the New Directions, take a few mental notes and he could go back to crafting a phenomenal set list that would blow Quinn's mind _and _guarantee them a win at Sectionals.

At last, after what seemed to be hours of directionless wanderings, Blaine finds a stairwell that led to the first floor and nearly jumps for joy, a splitting grin on his face, and receives odd looks from the few people that loitered the halls. He turns the corner of the staircase quickly, hoping to make it to wherever the choir room was situated, complete his mission and get the hell out. Now. If only he know where he was going.

Out of the corner of his eye, someone swiftly rounds the corner and begins to make his down the stairs past Blaine.

"Um excuse me?" Blaine begins, hopefully grabbing the attention of the stranger. "Can I ask you a question, I'm new here and I-

A piercing course of electricity races through Blaine's body and he wonders if it's a shock from grabbing onto the metal hand rail.

But Blaine isn't really thinking about that or anything else really, because in all his life, Blaine doesn't think he's ever seen eyes quite that shade of blue; bottomless stormy whirlpools.

The stranger is tall and lithe in stature and far too ethereal to be human, let alone male. He reminded Blaine is the mystical sylphs and elves of childhood fairytales. Yet, in all his fey like grace, the smooth contours of his body gave him a purely masculine distinction. His dark hair his arranged sloppily in a haphazard array of spikes, contrasting against his flawless porcelain complexion, which gives off a seraphic glow against his full black ensemble. The distinct scent of a light cologne, something sweet and tobacco fill Blaine's nostrils as exhales a long withheld breath.

"My name is Blaine," As soon as the words leave his mouth, Blaine regains his mind from his trance like state, and immediately flushes and lowers his offered hand, averting his eyes from the deep cerulean gaze.

"Kurt,"

The stranger's – Kurt's – voice is high and clear, even the harsh single syllable of his name sounds melodic on his lips.

_Kurt._

Somewhere in the deep confines of Blaine's mind the echo of the new voice unleashes a ghostly familiarity, igniting a light but sharp shiver down his spine.

"If you're lost, the guidance office is around the corner to the left, I'm sure Miss Pillsbury could give you a map," Kurt descended off the stairs while swiftly pulling up the sleeve of his leather jacket and glancing at a wrist watch. "I know a short cut,"

They walk down the empty hallway; Blaine perceives that Kurt is in fact about a full two inches taller than him, as Kurt is striding ahead of him rather quicly, the shallow heels of his chunky black combat boots clanking on the floor.

"So," Blaine begins, eyeing Kurt carefully, trying to keep up with his the great strides of his mile long legs. "I was wondering if you knew where the choir-"

Kurt's deep blue eyes are shifting rapidly from side to side; he stops dead in his tracks in the middle of the deserted hallway and looks up to the cage covered clock on the wall. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds vaguely like a curse.

"Are, are you okay?" Kurt's posture has become rigid and frozen, like an ice sculpture.

"You need to leave," Kurt urges suddenly, turning around to face Blaine, hesitantly stepping away from him. "Now,"

The starkness of Kurt's tone startles Blaine and he expects a bell to ring and a flood of students to emerge from the closed classroom doors. Or perhaps even the New Directions to jump out at him in his attempt at spying. Yet, the still silence remains, Kurt is frigid and unmoving, his hands trembling slightly.

"Is everything ok?" Blaine asks again stepping toward Kurt, taken aback and curious of the mysterious boy's sudden change in behavior from indifferent to distinctly aggressive.

Kurt replied with an icy glare. "Look, you need to get out of here befo-

Kurt is stronger than he looks because Blaine finds himself being thrust into a small alcove behind a locker bay. No longer disoriented from the unexpected push, Blaine begins to emerge, exceedingly annoyed at Kurt's sudden rudeness, preparing to give Kurt a piece of his mind.

Then, they just came out of nowhere. The pack of letter jacket clad burly bodies routing around the corner, their eyes narrowing as they halt for only a brief moment before swarming around Kurt, surrounding him like ferocious wolves aiming for prey.

"What did we say about seeing you around here, _faggot_," The alpha snarls at Kurt, lips curled with disgust.

Blaine stares on in immobile disbelief from the relatively well hidden location in the alcove as he watches Kurt stand frigidly and unmoving, face stark white, emotionless eyes staring at the wall behind the gang.

"Yea, I thought we were clear about how we felt about you spreading your fairy dust around here,"

A beefy, dark skinned jock shoves Kurt's shoulder roughly, causing a chain reaction of violent pushes until Kurt's slender, delicate body is finally flung carelessly like a ragdoll against a row of lockers with a violent clang.

"You think you can just walk around here like you fucking own the place and spread your fucking fairy dust around everywhere. You think you're hot shit don't you Hummel,"

Kurt doesn't reply. He remains firmly pressed against the cool metal lockers, not meeting the retching glare from the boy who stands in the middle of the small mob of muscle mass.

"I don't think the faggot heard you Dave," the dark skinned jock tells his friend. _"He's probably imagining us naked or something,"_

Dave wrinkles his nose with disgust before the formation of a smirk begins to appear on his lips. "I bet you'd like that wouldn't you Hummel," Dave jeers. "To get down on your knees like the disgusting cock sucker you are. You'd like that wouldn't you," Dave presses Kurt further against the locker, aggressively trying to force a knee between Kurt's long black clad legs. "What? No boner. You must have gotten it cut off or something right? Since you want to be a girl so much. Isn't that right lady face?"

Kurt retains his composure and silence, his blank expression upheld while the other jocks jeer and hoot along with Dave.

"Do everyone in town a favour Hummel and light yourself on fire or something. You're already going to burn in hell you fucking dirty faggot,"

The jocks give Kurt one final rough push to the stained tiled floor and Dave's right hand man hacks up a wad of spit in Kurt's direction.

"See ya around _lady_,"

* * *

><p>The paralysis of shock, fear and disbelief washes off of Blaine as quick as it had covered him. He slowly emerges from his semi hidden alcove behind the locker bay, unsure of how to approach Kurt, the enigmatic stranger from the staircase, whose pristine posture is now a crumpled slouch. His elfin face still void of emotion, eyes closed.<p>

Blaine reaches to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, unsure of what else to do (and knowing that it always seemed to comfort Quinn) but before he can rest his palm on the darkly covered sharp slope:

"Don't you think I'm going to infect you," Blaine nearly jumps back startled. Kurt is facing him now, his rigid posture restored, a hand placed prominently on his hip. His bright blue eyes narrowed and clouded with an icy malevolence that stings Blaine like a whip.

"What! I, uh I. No, I," Blaine can't bring himself to form anything articulate, his heart pounding against his chest, threatening to break through the skin, Kurt looming above him predatorily, his pink lips curled with aversion, Kurt's sweet but musky scent shrouding around him.

"Kurt," Blaine sounds out the syllables carefully savoring each letter as they roll off his tongue. He has the sudden urge to say the short simple name again. "What, what was…How could. I don't,"

"What? No one preys on the resident fairy at your school?" Kurt scoffs at the 'o' shape of Blaine's mouth and mumbles something incoherent under his breath.

Blaine steps closer to Kurt's lithe sharp form, finally letting his calloused hand land hesitantly on Kurt's boney shoulder. Kurt visibly stiffens at the sudden contact. There is only a split second of softness in Kurt's sapphire irises before he violently shoves Blaine's hand away from him.

"Get away from me," Kurt spits at him stepping back territorially. "I said GET AWAY," Even in his incomprehensible rage, he is graceful, elegant as he throws he hands around, the soft timbre of his voice straining as it gets progressively louder. Blaine finds it unfathomable that no classroom doors have opened; no students have crowded around to observe the spectacle.

_"Let me hel-,"_

"I don't need your help; get the fuck away from me,"

Kurt spins around on the heels of his heavy black boots and strides away hastily, rummaging through the pockets of his jacket, as if the horrific events of only a few moments ago had evaporated from his memory.

Before Blaine can call after him, Kurt turns his head slightly, removing a long white cigarette hanging from between his pink lips, his eyes have transformed from an expressive stormy blue to an icy silver glare. "Oh, and by the way, it helps when the Glee Club you're spying on actually exists,"


	12. Chapter 12

**Spoilers: 3x01 _The Purple Piano Project_**

**A/N: All the foreshadowing that I've been hinting at is starting to come to light, so if the potentiality of _slash_ isn't something that you are interested in reading, then this story isn't for you.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

Blaine isn't too sure what draws him to William McKinley High School. Rival show choir or not, any normal, sane person would have been utterly terrified of the mere size of the perilous educational facility and ran out the other way as fast as they could. But Blaine Anderson is a curious son of a bitch and his conscience gnaws and scratches at his brain to put together the pieces of every puzzle that crosses his path.

The "New Directions". Had they even been real? Or were they just the delusion of a lonely but talented girl who dreamed of being part of something special. He needed to know. At least that's what he told himself. And from what Blaine had been able to decipher, Kurt Hummel had answers.

Kurt Hummel. He himself was whole other mystery. The single syllable of his given name seemed entirely too blunt, too simple for his elegant, enigmatic presence. Said presence, that gave Blaine an inexplicable shiver at how it was almost ghostly familiar, like the faded remnants of a distant dream.

Blaine had contemplated all this whilst sitting in his car in the McKinley parking lot. Somehow he had managed to get himself out of the school and back to his vehicle in his daze like state. The sharp, stinging final words of the ethereal stranger, lingering in his mind before he had turned on the heels of his heavy leather boots and strut away from him down the empty echoing hallways.

But the mere memory of Kurt Hummel was accompanied by the brutal assault that followed soon after their meeting on the staircase. Blaine cringed every time he replayed the scene in his head, the echo of the slurs and slam of Kurt's lithe delicate body against the lockers, and Blaine had just stood there. Like a coward, too shocked to move.

And even so, why hadn't Kurt even lifted a finger to defend himself? His icy cold quick wit would probably have been enough to keep his tormentors on their feet, and if not that, the strength in his arm had been able to push Blaine completely out of sight with barely any effort.

Blaine was completely and utterly puzzled. William McKinley High School was a tangled web of secrets and intrigue, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

><p>On his first day back at McKinley, Blaine is anxious and slightly terrified as he pulls into the parking lot. He waits until the usual crowd of students shuffle into the building before setting out into the cold concrete structure that held the answers he was searching for.<p>

The hallways are vaguely familiar, but no less intimidating and confusing the second time around. Blaine wanders the same places again, and everything is noticeably still identical to the day before.

The staircase is really far from extraordinary, Blaine thinks to himself as he leans against the cold metal railing. Compared to the great spiraled one at Dalton that he has descended so many times for the past 2 years of his life, made of white tiles, a smooth ebony banister and walls lined with mirrors and expensive artwork, all beneath the great glass dome.

Hoards of students round their way down the steps, girls in red cheerleading outfits, boys in hockey jerseys, a girl wearing a jumper covered in little green peppers, a group of crucifix wearing sophomores proudly flaunting their WWJD bracelets and a rather terrifying woman in a tracksuit who just stares eerily at his hair for a moment, with a tyrannical look in her eye, but sighs and walks away. Even the football-playing tormentors bound their way past the staircase, not giving Blaine so much as a first glance.

And yet, not a single one of them is Kurt Hummel.

* * *

><p>Blaine can barely concentrate. His morning classes go by in a sluggish blur, and he thanks his lucky stars that Quinn is on a class trip; he still needs to figure out a way to explain not answering her texts and calls. All he can think about is the perplexing mysteries of McKinley High; the New Directions and Kurt Hummel. He had been up unreasonably late trying to find Rachel Berry's <em>MySpace<em> page again, but with no avail.

By lunch hour, Blaine is in his car driving down the interstate toward Lima, Ohio.

This time around, Blaine only walks around the outer grounds, seeing as he's conscious enough to know that his Dalton uniform would most likely give him away. The grounds of McKinley are much larger then he perceived as he finds himself walking toward a large football stadium.

The terrifying woman in the red track suit is screeching insults through a megaphone to the girls in red polyester dresses that Blaine had noticed littering the campus from his last two visits. Although, he doesn't quite understand why she's screeching at them, from the little Blaine actually knows about cheerleading, their forms were rather excellent. He envisions that Quinn could have been a cheerleader, in some clichéd alternate universe where she was captain of the squad and dating the dopey quarterback.

Blaine wanders absentmindedly around the outsides of the stadium. The cool autumn breeze biting at his face, he tugs his blazer closer around his body, wishing that he had remembered to bring his jacket. That's when he sees them. Or smells them rather.

Blaine isn't sure if he should be terrified by the four rather intimidating girls or intrigued by them because Kurt Hummel is standing amongst them, cigarette limply held between his fingers, blowing puffs of smoke out of his pink lips.

Blaine recognizes his elfin face immediately, although he still dressed completely in black; the worn leather jacket, but his trousers are baggy and hang loosely on his hips, a silver chain hanging off the belt loops, unlike the practically painted on skinny jeans he had been wear the day before. Dark chestnut hair spiked in a messy disarray.

One of the girls, who his larger in size and is wearing thick glasses says something crude to a girl she calls Mac and Kurt throws his head back; exposing the creamy expanse of his long elegant neck and sounds an emotionless chuckle. He spits his cigarette bud out of his mouth and onto the concrete, stomping on it with his boot-covered foot.

"Light me up Ronnie?" he asks taking out a box from his pocket removing the long white cigarette, Blaine notices his voice is rough and distinctly empty sounding, despite its light timbre.

Ronnie, or at least who Blaine thinks is Ronnie he could be wrong, lights Kurt's cigarette for him with a neon pink lighter and Kurt takes a long drag, closing his eyes as he inhales the smoke.

Blaine would approach Kurt Hummel. He really would. But those girls with him are just as terrifying as the cheerleading coach in tracksuits; as he eavesdrops on them talk about shop lifting and winning all male wrestling championships. As Blaine listens from his hiding place a little horrified, Kurt doesn't seem to react to anything they're saying. He's silent, only nodding occasionally to the girl in glasses when she directs comments at him.

"I'm off ladies," Kurt stuffs his hands in the pockets of his baggy pants as the girls grunt a chorus of goodbyes and Blaine hides himself more into the shadows, watching Kurt Hummel disappear behind a corner again, his one hundred questions still unanswered.

* * *

><p>Blaine honestly can't believe he didn't think of a map sooner.<p>

He's not overly proud of having to lie to the genuinely kind, although scattered brained guidance counselor, Mrs. Howell, pretending to be a new student, but the sooner he gets this mystery solved and out of his brain the sooner he'll be able to scrape together a set list, and hopefully restore himself back into Quinn's good graces.

Also, on a side note; if Blaine is being completely honest, the texts he's getting from Annalise are really starting to frighten him. He would like his eyebrows to remain intact thank you very much.

The library at McKinley, he finds to be a no man's land, not even a librarian, unlike at Dalton, where there is always a handful of students scattered. But this isn't Dalton, Blaine reminds himself as he skims the shelves as he searches for what he's looking for; a yearbook.

Every high school library is supposed to have all of their yearbooks. Dalton does; all 125 of them; every year since the school opened in 1885. When he finds them; Thunderclaps they're called, Blaine pulls one off the shelf that reads 2009-2010 on the spine, settles himself at one of the tables and begins to flip through the pages. Past sports teams, familiar faces and about 10 pages of the cheerleading squad, who are appropriately, - and Blaine's opinion rather hilariously - dubbed the "Cheerios".

It's not until he's at the third last page does he find exactly what he's been looking for. There, on page 87, beneath an advertisement for a fried chicken restaurant, and layered with permanent marker made graffiti is the yearbook photo for the McKinley High School Glee Club: The New Directions.

Blaine can make out a few of their faces, there's Rachel of course, her overtly radiant smile is unmistakable. There's a brooding boy with a Mohawk and one who is freakish tall with a dopey grin. A sunny blonde cheerleader, even a boy in a wheelchair and an obviously pregnant girl who could eerily pass as Annalise's cousin. And in the right hand corner, almost completely covered in defacement; Hitler moustache and all, a hand on his slender hip, is Kurt Hummel. Blaine does a double take at first, because that can't possibly be Kurt Hummel, bright, flamboyant outfit that looks like something he's seen inside of Vogue, hair perfectly coiffed. No it can't possibly be him. The darkly dressed, cigarette smoking ominous Heathcliff of McKinley High School. Blaine honestly wouldn't have been surprised if it turned out the Kurt rode a motorcycle. Yet low and behold, after squinting at the photo until his vision blurred. There, in checker printed pants, cooper coloured vest, standing next to a blonde boy with large guppy lips, was Kurt.

After placing the Thunderclap back on the shelf, Blaine is back in the hallway, scouting around, for what he assumed had been the choir room from the photo. The Glee Club, or the "_Gleek_ Club" as the defacers had dubbed them, had been very much real and not a delusion of Rachel Berry.

_"Oh, and by the way, it helps when the Glee Club you're spying on actually exists,"_

Why had Kurt lied to him, Blaine ponders to himself, replaying Kurt's cold words in his head, and more importantly; why didn't they exist anymore?

* * *

><p>Blaine stops in his tracks suddenly. "Darn it," he curses at himself.<p>

He seems to have taken the wrong turn, again. This particular hallway isn't at all familiar. It isn't lined with posters and has an eerie atmosphere that reminds Blaine of the horror movies that Jeff enjoys for some mundane reason. Blaine ventures slowly done the hallway, footsteps echoing loudly in the silence as he treks cautiously down a darkened branched off corridor. The few doors are locked, and the ones that aren't, the rooms are completely empty, bare of everything but a floor, walls and ceiling. Blaine feels likes he's almost in some sort of academic limbo. Just when things couldn't get any stranger, Blaine finds a door to his left, well, not actually a door; the archway was covered by a long plastic drape. Gingerly, Blaine touches it, there was something behind it. Carefully not to tear it, Blaine removes the plastic sheet and steps through the doorway.

A soft gasp slipped from Blaine's lips.

It was the choir room. Or what was left of it at least. From the dark stains on the walls, and the charred remains of what must have been wooden shelves, chunks of wall and ceiling scattered on the riser steps. Particles of dust could be seen in the small stream of light coming through the unpainted patch of one of the windows.

"What happened here?" Blaine whispered to himself.

"Pfft, are you seriously that dim?"

Blaine whipped his head around at the light timbre that dripped in sarcasm. His hazel eyes widened at the sight of the none other than the mysterious Kurt Hummel. His lithe body leant up against the door frame. He's wearing his signature worn leather jacket, a piece of his dark tousled hair was hanging out of place on his pale forehead, a lit cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.

"It's kind of obvious isn't it?" Kurt says dryly taking in a deep drag, his cerulean eyes lidded heavily, breathing the wispy smoke out through his nose.

There is a moment of silence. Blaine simply stares at Kurt's eyes; even in the dim lighting, Blaine notices the prominent distinctive hints of green pigment in his cool stormy eyes.

Kurt cocks up an eyebrow. "Are you going to say something, or are you just going to stare at me?"

"I, I just…" Blaine flushes, realizing that he's been caught in his simple observations.

Kurt scoffs darkly, his smirk not reaching his eyes.

"Smoking is really bad for you, you know," Blaine counters, regaining his sense.

Kurt's slowly standing upright and pacing toward Blaine, heavy combat boots clunking in the echoing silence. He takes another long slow drag and blows a puff of smoke in Blaine's direction. In this moment Blaine realizes quite how much taller Kurt is in comparison as he almost looms a head above him.

Kurt snorts, surveying the top of Blaine's head. "Yea, as is copious amounts of hair gel, but that doesn't seem to be stopping you,"

Blaine feels his face grow hot with embarrassment as Kurt sneers at him superiorly. He self-consciously touches his slicked back hair, and wonders what the people of Lima have against it.

Kurt is already starting to walk away, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Wait!" Blaine calls out. "You're not going to say anything. You're not going to tell me what happened,"

"Tell you what?" he snaps, turning around to face Blaine once again.

"I know, Kurt," Blaine pauses as Kurt's name falls from his lips, the tone of his voice almost unrecognizable, savoring every sound. "The New Directions. They were real. I-I saw the yearbook picture,"

"Why do you even give a fuck?"

"I.." Blaine pauses. Why does he care? "I, I just- twelve people can't just disappear into thin air," He settles upon.

Kurt simply scoffs at him, Blaine finally perceives exactly how close together they're standing, the scent of Kurt's cologne and his cigarette fog his senses.

"Sure they can, you should no better," Kurt whispers harshly, running his long pale finger over the soft gold of Blaine's crucifix that is peeking out of his shirt, his stormy eyes narrowed heatedly, lip curled into a snarl.. "Look, I don't know why you're so fascinated, but it's really none of you fucking God damn business. This isn't some cheesy Hardy Boys mystery. Do yourself a favour; give it up and go home Blaine,"

Rooted to his spot, mouth gaping open, Blaine's mind races as Kurt struts violently out of the choir room, his heavy steps echoing in the silence. Blaine places his hand on his chest, stroking the gold cross that he had forgotten he was wearing, it was still warm from Kurt's touch.

_He remembers my name._


	13. Chapter 13

**Warnings/Triggers: **Homophobia, violence

**A/N: **This chapter is monstrous in length. Huge. Which is why it took me so long to write and edit. This chapter takes place canonically in what would be season 1, or Kurt's sophmore year. I apologize if I butchered anyone's characters.

I hope you all like Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>One Year Earlier:<strong>

The members of the McKinley High School Glee Club sat silently in the choir room. No one spoke or moved as they waited for Mr. Schuster to walk in to give them an incredibly cheesy, but heartwarming goodbye speech of how proud he was of every single one of them.

At least that was what Kurt Hummel was expecting to happen. Considering that the short lived dream the was the "New Directions" had run it's winding, overdramatic, rather romcom-esque course after a humiliating third place finish at sectionals to a juvenile detention center and a school for the deaf.

Kurt Hummel was expecting tears from Tina, trips down memory lane and the surprise impromptu goodbye number they had planned the other day. What he was not expecting however, was to see the Spanish teacher emerge into the choir room in a strange dream like state, eyes glassy and a fanatical grin on his face.

As soon as Mr. Schue begins to set his things on the piano bench, Rachel Berry garbed in her usual animal sweater and kilt ensemble stands up.

"Mr. Schuster if I may. Because this is our final meeting, my fellow glee clubbers and I, have prepared a little piece of farewell in your honor in thanks to all the guidance and opportunities you have given us to shine over the course…"

As Rachel drones on, mostly about herself and her repertoire of solos, Kurt rolls his eyes. Opportunities to shine, my ass. What a joke. The only people who had gotten their chance to shine were Rachel and Finn; the most mediocre and awkward of pairs. Rachel with her run of the mill Broadway belt and Finn with a descent shower voice that could be trained to resemble a classic rock front man. Not to mention their extreme differences in height

And yet, with all the vocal prowess that was hidden behind the harmonies that carried out Rachel and Finn's numerous duets and all the hate and jealousy that circulated, Kurt found himself being the only one who questioned Mr. Schuster's blatant favoritism of the resident diva and her clichéd football playing love interest.

Kurt figures it's really because he's the only one who cares. The only one who even gives a damn about his gift being noticed. Everyone else seemed to be caught up in the ridiculous dramatic antics of the Rachel/Finn/Santana/Puck/Brittany teenage love quadrangle and figuring out that it was indeed Noah Puckerman, who was Santana's baby daddy, despite the fact that she was in love with Brittany to care that Rachel Berry got _every single solo_.

Whilst his friends were in tune with their mundane day to day adolescent activities, Kurt finds himself trying to get from one day to the next without being assaulted in some way shape or form. Being the only openly gay student at McKinley High School had its obstacles. It was hard enough dealing with getting thrown against lockers every day and having to get to school extraordinarily early or late to avoid getting tossed into a dumpster, the necessity of keeping extra clothes in your locker in case of getting drenched with frozen colored corn syrup.

Freshman gym class was a nightmare of a whole other level that Kurt preferred to pretend never happened.

Despite this mundane, almost painful day to day life, Kurt knows that one day, the bullying, the neglect of his talent and every ounce of hard work would be worth it. In two years time he would be boarding a plane to California and never stepping foot on the oppressive close minded soil of Lima, Ohio ever again.

At long last, the members of New Directions are spared the remainder of Rachel's speech. Mr. Schuster speaks:

"Thank you Rachel, as lovely as the sentiment is….a goodbye number won't be necessary…because we got another year!"

"What!" Tina exclaims.

"Hold up Mr. Schue," Mercedes said.

"I don't understand, what do you mean we have another year" Artie voices in agreement, nodding at Mercedes.

The choir room erupted, everyone talking at once, trying to express their mix of confusion and joy.

"Yea, didn't you say glee club was over if we lost at sectionals?" questions Sam. Kurt turns around in his chair and looks to him, who's sitting in the row behind him.

Sam Evans, the new kid who had saved their asses when he joined to be their twelfth member, was to Kurt, the most ridiculously adorable boy he had ever met. Although the side swept shaggy hairstyle with that horrid dye job (lemon juice or out of the box dye he suspected) and the letterman jacket screeched closeted jock from a mile away. Of course, Kurt had thought the same thing about Finn Hudson, the rather stupid yet somehow endearing quarterback, and had a short lived, distant crush on him in freshman year. But Kurt had pride, and no amounts of Finn telling Puck to retain some "impulse control" or being New Directions' resident male lead would ever take away from the fact that Finn Hudson had thrown him into dumpsters. _Dumpsters_. Inhaling the toxic scent of rotting cafeteria food did nothing for his vocal chords.

Whether Sam was a little bent or not, Kurt was more than well acquainted with the fact that he wasn't destined to find love in Lima. Especially since anymore than the polite social formalities toward a man would get him beat up or worse. And despite the fact that Puck and Finn were now in the Glee club, and there was currently a sort of treaty between the New Directions and football team, and it didn't even matter that his dad Burt had been on a few dates with Finn's mom Carole, Kurt wouldn't put it past any of the male inhabitants of Lima to beat the shit out of him for sparing them so much as lingering gaze.

But Sam, Sam was different. Something that set him apart from the other jocks, that Kurt couldn't quite put his finger on

"You know, of you all just shut the frig' up then maybe Mr. Schue could actually tell us what was going on!" Puck shouted, standing up from beside Santana who was currently rubbing her enlarged abdomen. Ever since almost having a miscarriage at sectionals from getting into to some absurd brawl with a girl from Jane Adams Academy, Puck never left her side.

"I agree," Rachel announced enthusiastically.

Mr. Schue was still grinning brightly. "Long story short guys, we get another year if we can raise the funds ourselves,"

"And how exactly does Figgins think we're going to do that," Santana scoffed raising an eyebrow.

"We, Santana, are going to put on a musical!"

Everyone gasped excitedly. Rachel looked like Christmas, her birthday and second coming were all happening on the same day and began to babble in an incoherent whisper about her long awaited Broadway debut. Finn who was sitting beside her looked worried for his girlfriend's sanity.

Kurt on the other hand frowned. A musical. How was he supposed to demonstrate his talents in a run of the mill, vocally unchallenging Broadway musical in Lima, Ohio?

"Not just any musical. The new directions will be performing Andrew Lloyd Webber's masterpiece; _The Phantom of the Opera_!"

Kurt gaped. Now that was more like it. Phantom songs were his favorite warm ups. He smirked. And raised his hand to speak but was rudely cut off by Rachel Berry.

"Mr. Schuster, along with Maria, the iconic role of Christine has also been a dream of mine since the age of 4; I would like to volunteer my vocal aptitude and timeless stage presence for the role. I am after all the only singer for the range."

Kurt frowned and slumped into his seat, Rachel's last comment causing his stomach to churn uncomfortably. All he wanted was to bound up from his seat and give her a piece of his mind; he was the 8 year classically trained soprano. But the memory of the disastrous "diva-off' kept him rooted to his seat and from gauging out Rachel's eyeballs with his finger nails.

Everyone was cast into main roles by the end of the hour. Rachel squealed irritatingly in excitement at her dream role being handed to her on a silver platter and her clichéd loved interests were cast opposite her, Finn as Raoul and Puck as the Phantom respectively. Along with;

Santana as La Carlotta

Tina as Mme. Giry

Brittany as Meg

Matt and Mike as Firmin and Andre

Of course, with Mr. Schue's inability to possess any form of organization skills and with Coach Sylvester's constant meddling presence, the musical regressed to a state of disorganized chaos. Kurt knew it was suspicious that McKinley has actually managed to pay full rights to present the musical in its entirety. Of course, there was a loophole, there always was with Mr. Schue. The musical went from being a fully fledged production to a mere showcase of the musical numbers in full costuming; courtesy of Mercedes Jones.

Not that Kurt would care really; the musical didn't exactly have anything to offer him. Yes, it gave him the opportunity to dance again, to choreograph the numbers with Brit; times were tight and he had to withdraw from formal dance training, but being the assistant choreographer for a cheap high school production of Phantom wasn't going to do anything for his transcripts.

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel had known he was a star for as long as he could remember and he had his mother to thank for it. He remember coming home from preschool crying because the other kids made fun of him and called him a sissy. When he asked his mother why, Elizabeth would simply say it was because he was special and that he was going to be a star one day and all the other children were jealous.<p>

By the time Kurt was six, his ballet teachers were already calling him a prodigy in the making. He would smirk during the middle of his adagio at the barre whilst eavesdropping on Mme. Anya praising him to his parents and watching Rachel Berry frustration that her movement didn't contain the same level of perfection his did..

Elizabeth Hummel beamed at her son with pride through watery eyes, even Burt seemed impressed as Kurt developpéd his leg to a perfect 150 degree angle, he noticed his dad's glance and Kurt pointed his toe harder. He wanted to, no needed to make his parents proud of him.

It was inevitable, the doctors had said, even though they had been merely sitting around waiting for Elizabeth to take her last breath as the cancer spread through her deteriorating body Kurt still didn't want to believe she was gone, that she was in another place, because to Kurt, she wasn't, the place for her was with him, by his side. Taking him shopping, singing him the Beatles and Broadway and teaching him how to play the piano.

Sitting at a piano, whether it was a bench or a stool made Kurt feel this strange sense of warmth, and if he was very still and took in a slow deep breath he could almost smell his mother's perfume. That's where he was currently sitting, running his long pale fingers over the ivory keys of the choir room's baby grande. The familiar instrument had been a constant presence in the pivotal moments of his life.

He can still remember being eight years old and sitting all alone in his living room a week after the funeral. The chestnut upright piano a physical ghost of his mother's former warm presence, that not even the grip his daddy's warm comforting hand could replace. Kurt tinkered at the keys in the silence, easing his way through the familiar scales; he never missed a piano lesson. Slowly the scales morphed into the last song his mother had taught him before she was too sick to leave her bed, Elizabeth always said that you could never go wrong with the Beatles.

_I wanna hold your hand  
><em>

The memory of his grandmother approaching him mid way through his personal eulogy and nestling beside him while he sobbed into her embrace was vague, her words blurred together, but the remnants of "_You could be a star Kurt, just like mummy would have wanted,"_ hung in the air. And before he knew it Kurt was being whisked away in the early morning on Sunday, his grandmother babbling on about French and something to do with Latin.

The moment Kurt stepped into Miss Shelby Corcoran's home and was asked to sing, training as a classical operatic soprano became a forefront of his life. According to Shelby, despite his already monumental natural talent, with the right amount of hard work and dedication he would be extraordinary. He drilled himself through scales and cadenzas, accomplishing languages that his culturally challenged peers would never understand and expanding his already naturally impressive range far past Rachel Berry could ever dream. He was going to be a star and now, it didn't matter if his father couldn't afford to send him to Shelby anymore.

At his last session with Shelby, she informed him, beaming with pride that she couldn't wait to see him at his opera debut. He was ready, ready to escape the hellish prison of Lima, Ohio and to grace the California with his presence. Kurt already had seven years of intensive training with her under his belt, a high degree of natural talent and an unhealthy amount of ambition; he was a shoe in for the Voice and Opera program at UCLA. All he had to do was count down the days until he would receive his acceptance letter.

* * *

><p>Although he should really be at the Phantom rehearsal, the musical was really a waste of his time, it did nothing for the improvement of his talent, and if he had to listen to Rachel Berry atrociously butcher the simply cadenza on one of his favorite songs his ears would bleed. Kurt let his hand press at the familiar keys of the song he knew inside and out, every note and scale, each Latin lyric in its entirety. ( .comwatch?v=OfrxOKcAkNI )

_Ave Maria, gratia plena,  
>Dominus tecum,<br>benedicta tu in mulieribus,  
>et benedictus fructus ventris tui Iesus.<br>Sancta Maria Mater Dei,  
>ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.<em>

Kurt jumped in his seat at the voice when he heard a slamming noise from behind him and whipped his head around.

Sam Evans stood in the doorway, clumsily clutching a binder to his chest awkwardly.

In himself, Sam Evans was a pivotal point of Kurt's life. Even a midst all the hate and the slurs and the harassment, there was still a shred of hope for straight guys. Despite the fact that he was a football player; popular by default, this usually meant he was a bigoted jackass but as Kurt concluded before, Sam Evans wasn't like the other jocks. He was quiet, polite and honorable; much to Kurt's sheer disbelief

To top it off, Sam was probably the biggest nerd Kurt had ever been acquainted with. Complete with Sean Connery impressions and the fluency of some Star Wars alien language. By some strange pull of the magical red strings of fate, Sam had pulled his name out of the hat for ballad week that fall

"You weren't kidding when you said you were amazing," Sam's baby blue eyes mystified with wonder as he stared at Kurt carefully.

"I know," Kurt stated, he was fully conscious of his abilities.

"That's what I don't get about you Kurt," Sam approached him, setting his binder on the top of the piano. "You're so quick to say what a star you're going to be one day and how much better you are than everyone else, but once you need to show people, you hide it. Why?"

Kurt blushed furiously. From their time rehearsing their ballads, Sam was fully aware of his reasons for blowing the high F, a note that was well within his range, as Sam had almost bashfully informed Kurt about voting for him in the Diva-Off against Rachel for the Defying Gravity "I don't know what you're talking about," Kurt simply replied, pretending to flit through his sheet music.

"Oh, come on Kurt, don't lie to me," Sam paused and Kurt raised an eyebrow at him. "I saw your face when Mr. Schue gave Rachel the part,"

"You were clearly imagining things Samuel," Kurt affirmed, avoiding Sam's eye, rummaging through his messenger bag.

"Why didn't you just audition?" Sam pressed.

"Because I can't Sam," Kurt says through clenched teeth.

"That's bullshit. I just heard you,"

Kurt scoffed. "I am perfectly aware that I'm vocal capabilities,"

"Then what's the God damn problem?"

"I don't know if you haven't noticed at all Sam, but I'm a boy!" Kurt snapped pointing his finger in Sam's face, his cerulean eyes blazing with frustration. "Not only do we live in Ohio, you know that Mr. Schue would never give me the part. As far he knows I can't even hit a high F,"

Sam's eyes lit up. "You could show him,"

Kurt chuckled darkly. Please Sam, don't be ridicu-"

Kurt didn't have a chance to finish because Sam was dragging by the arm down the hallway to the auditorium door.

"Sam, Sam stop," Kurt tried to shimmy out of his grip, but Sam held his bicep firmly. Kurt felt a small flutter in his gut as Sam pressed harder.

Sam burst the door open and Kurt's ears were filled with the deafening noise of Rachel's wretched attempt at operatic scales.

"Ok Rachel, just um, take it from the top again," Mr. Schuster called with obvious exasperation.

Rachel cleared her throat and was about to open her mouth again….

"Wait, Mr. Schue!"

"Sam what are you doing," Kurt whispered harshly as Sam pulled him down the stairs toward the stage.

Sam ignored him and continued to tug him along. "Mr. Schue!"

"Excuse me Sam, I don't mean to be rude, but you're interrupting the rehearsal for my musical," Rachel stamped her foot, crossing her arms. Finn was standing awkwardly next to her, clutching sheet music in his hands. Tina was off to the sides being measured by Mercedes.

"Shut it Berry, let Trouty Mouth speak. I'm getting a head ache from your constant squawking," Santana quipped who was being hovered by Puck and Brittany

What is it Sam?" Mr. Schue asked.

"You need to let Kurt audition for the lead,"

"Sam, rehearsals are already underway, Puck and Finn have already been cast as lead, and Kurt already has a role,"

Kurt tried sending Sam a signal to shut his mouth. "Sam stop it,"

"No, I meant for the role of Christine,

Rachel squawked a laugh. "I'm already the lead silly. And Kurt can't even hit the high F from Defying Gravity. He obviously wouldn't be able to handle the vocal prowess that is required for the iconic role of Christine Daae,"

Kurt glared at Rachel, wanting a bolt of lightning to come a strike her down where she stood. What did she know?

"Please Mr. Schue. Hear Kurt sing. Please," Sam implored, gripping onto Kurt's arm, restraining Kurt from elbowing him again.

"I don't see how it could hurt Will," said Miss Pillsbury who emerged from back stage. "Give him a shot,"

Mr. Schuster sighed. "Ok Kurt, show us what you got,"

"But Mr. Schuster!" Rachel whined.

Everyone in the auditorium ignored Rachel's tantrum and Kurt walked up the steps to the stage, running notes through his head.

He turned to the ever silent pianist Brad. "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, A flat," It was his third audition piece for UCLA, he figured he would practice it.

"No," Rachel began coolly. "Think of Me, with cadenza,"

Kurt smirked; he could breeze through the simple cadenza in his sleep. He nodded at Brad, took in the small breath and began to sing.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

_Remember me once in a while  
><em>Please promise me, you'll try

_Then you'll find that once again you long_  
><em>To take your heart back and be free<em>  
><em>If you'll ever find a moment<em>  
><em>Spare a thought for me<em>

The familiar words of the song he had sung and played so many times with his mother all those years ago and several times with Shelby, during their "fun lessons" fell easily of his tongue.

_We never said our love was evergreen  
>Or as unchanging as the sea<br>But if you can still remember  
>Stop and think of me<em>

_Think of all the things  
>We've shared and seen<br>Don't think about the way  
>Things might have been<br>_

_Think of me, think of me waking  
>Silent and resigned<br>Imagine me trying too hard  
>To put you from my mind<em>

Sam's eyes met his from across the room, light flutters pressed against his abdomen.

_Recall those days, look back on all those times  
>Think of those things we'll never do<br>There will never be a day  
>When I won't think of you<em>

_Can it be? Can it be Christine?  
>Bravo<br>_

Kurt's eyes widened with disbelief for a moment, he could have sworn he saw Sam's lips moving silently with Finn's lyrics, as he awkwardly made his way through the verse. Clearly unsure if should sing it or not, as his girlfriend was standing with her arms crossed, a pout on her lips and a glare in her eyes.

_Long ago, it seems so long ago  
>How young and innocent we were<br>She may not remember me  
>But I remember her<em>

_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade_  
><em>They have their seasons, so do we<em>  
><em>But please promise me that sometimes<em>  
><em>You will think...<em>

Kurt glided and soared above and beyond the taboo high F with grace and ease through the cadenza.

_of me_

The auditorium was silent, the drop of a pin could be heard.. Kurt's eyes flitted around him to his team mates, each of their faces drawn to an expression of sheer shock, even Sam, and if Rachel opened her mouth any wider, surely he jaw would dislocate itself.

Suddenly a staccato of claps began to echo. Everyone looked up to see the light streaming through the auditorium as Sue Sylvester strut her way down the steps.

"I knew you sounded like a pre pubescent female Porcelain, but who would have thought you could do that with Miss Yentel over here and her big mouth,"

"With all due respect Miss Sylvester," Rachel stepped forward, her usually look of superiority on her face. "Kurt couldn't possibly play a _female_ role, despite his physical effeminacy and his vocal capabilities with the technicalities of the music, Kurt is still a boy. And as Mr. Schuster states earlier, the musical is already underway, with myself as the lead,"

"Ah hell to tha no!" Mercedes began shrilly.

"You know what Man Hands, I've just about enough of your self-proclaimed ego and all the bullshit baggage it comes with," Santana sauntered forward, one hand on her hip, the other on her enlarged abdomen, Puck shadowing her. "You're obviously just jealous that Kurt can sing better than you can and would play the part better than you can. Because newsflash Berry, you're not really that talented,"

Rachel looks like she's about to cry , clutching onto Finn who looks like a thundercloud. Kurt is slightly shocked, at Santana's rude, but strangely touching speech. He knew she hated Rachel, but when did you start caring about him?

"Santana that's enough!" Mr. Schuster announces. "Apologize,"

"Now, now William," Sue begins. "Despite Santana's crude honesty due to the amount of psychotic deriving hormone due to her illegitimate, religiously conflicted Christian-Jew child, I couldn't have said it better myself. Lady sings better than Yentel. And as the newly appointed Artistic Supervisor of this production I hereby cast Kurt Hummel in the part of Christina over Rachel Berry,"

"Christine," Rachel corrected through muffled sobs.

Kurt's head began to spin, his friends were cheering and Sam was shining his bright perfect white smile in his direction, clapping enthusiastically. He was going to be playing Christine_._ Finally, after years of hiding in the shadow, he was the lead. He was the _female _lead.

For the next few weeks Kurt was so bombarded with rehearsals and costume fittings, the fact that he would be performing in a leading role, in front of an entire audience, in a dress didn't full sink in. Kurt genuinely feared he would look like some sort of over glorified drag queen, but when he peered in the mirror to see his reflection he could barely recognize himself. His lithe slim body enclosed in the red and gold satin dress, corset done up tight in an attempt to accentuate the curves he didn't have, long wavy brown wig cascading down his back and bare shoulders, stage make up applied meticulously thanks to Tina. Perhaps we would be able to get away with this after all.

"Damn boy," teased Mercedes coming through the door of dressing room. "You look hot,"

"Do you think anyone has literally died on stage," Kurt confessed his unyielding nerves; his hands had been shaking since he arrived at the theatre that afternoon.

Mercedes chuckled fleeting around the dressing room, opening up the garment bags of costumes hanging them up on the rack in preparation for the quick changes to come.

"What if I open my mouth and nothing comes out, or my wig falls off or everyone find out it's me underneath all this goop Tina put on my face or what if Puck stands me up on stage or or or…"

"Relax honey, Santana practically glued that thing to your head, and everyone in the cast signed that waiver of confidentiality, no one is going to figure out that it's you and starting throwing fruit at you. You're going to be amazing, now get your ass backstage, everyone's waiting,"

Kurt took in a deep breath. He was finally getting what he wanted, he was going to be the _star. _The violins began and the curtain rose.

* * *

><p>"<em>A full house Andre! We shall have to refund a full house!"<em>

"_Christine Daae could sing it sir,"_

"_From the beginning of the aria then mademoiselle,"_

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

The end of the first scene received wild applause, mostly from Burt who sat front row center and was nearly standing in his seat. Kurt curtseyed delicately, smiling broadly as the crowd continued to applaud _as the curtain closed.

Santana had been the perfect comic relief for La Carlotta and even Finn hadn't been overtly awkward.

"Good luck Kurt!" Tina whispered quickly between transitions.

* * *

><p>Brittany had through some strange phenomenon managed to lose her ability to learn her lines - apparently her cat had eaten her script - leaving Rachel Berry to fill her place.<p>

_Where in the world have you been hiding?  
>Really, you were perfect<br>I only wish I knew your secret  
>Who is your great tutor?<em>

_Father once spoke of an Angel_  
><em>I used to dream he'd appear<em>  
><em>Now as I sing I can sense him<em>  
><em>And I know he's here<em>

_Here in this room, he calls me softly_  
><em>Somewhere inside, hiding<em>  
><em>Somehow I know he's always with me<em>

_He, the unseen genius_

_Christine, you must have been dreaming_  
><em>Stories like this can't come true<em>  
><em>Christine, you're talking in riddles<em>  
><em>And it's not like you<em>

Kurt was more than familiar of Rachel's malice capabilities and wasn't surprised at the falsness of her forced smile and how tightly she gripped his hand. He tried to stay clear of her as much as possible without interrupting the set staging; he wouldn't put it past her to trip him.

_Angel of music, guide and guardian  
>Grant to me your glory<br>Angel of music, hide no longer  
>Secret and strange Angel<em>

_He's with me even now_  
><em>Your hands are cold<em>  
><em>All around me<em>  
><em>Your face, Christine, it's white<em>  
><em>It frightens me, don't be frightened<em>

* * *

><p>To say Kurt was frightened was the understatement of the century. Even a midst his rushed costume changes, he had yet to see Puck backstage and he already completely missed his first vocal cue. Kurt's worst fear was coming true. Puck was going to stand him up in the middle of a scene. He had heard Puck complaining to Mr. Schue after rehearsal early that week.<p>

"_I ain't not bigot Mr. Schue. But the Puckasaurus doesn't kiss dudes," he had said._

And now Kurt was alone on stage, he was internally panicking; the prop candles had already started to blow themselves out, the music was beginning, Puck was going to leave him stranded there. What the fuck was he going to do? Fuck, fuck, _fuck._

_Insolent boy!  
>This slave of fashion basking in your glory! <em>

Kurt literally jumped and his eye widened like saucers.

_Ignorant fool!  
>This brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph!<em>

_Angel! I hear you!_  
><em>Speak - I listen ... stay by my side, guide me!<em>

_Angel, my soul was_  
><em>weak - forgive me ... enter at last, Master!<em>

Kurt didn't recognize the rich haunting baritone, and he genuinely wasn't acting anymore, the unrecognizable voice had slightly terrified him.

_Flattering child you shall know me, see why in shadow  
>I hide!<br>_

Kurt was shaking as he slowly turned around to face the mirror prop on cue. But no one was there.

_Look at your face in the mirror -  
>I am there inside! <em>

_Angel of Music!  
>Guide and guardian!<br>Grant to me your Glory!_

_Angel of Music! Hide no longer!_  
><em>Come to me, strange<em>  
><em>Angel ...<em>

_I am your Angel of Music...  
>Come to me: Angel of Music ...<em>

_I am your Angel of Music ..._  
><em>Come to me: Angel of Music ...<em>

The dark red spotlight shone, the chilling violin of the main theme began and suddenly a gloved hand grabbed Kurt's shaking one in the darkness.

_In sleep he sang to me, _

_in dreams he came ...  
>that voice which calls to me and speaks my name ... <em>

Kurt allowed the mysterious Phantom trail him across the stage down the riser steps, the actor's face still hidden, only his white half mask visible.

_And do I dream again? _

_For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there _

_inside my mind ... _

Suddenly, the mystifying baritone turns the uncovered side of his face and it takes Kurt all of his composure and self control not to gawk in the middle of his lyrics. He recognized that hair and those lips anywhere.

Sam.

_Sing once again with me our strange duet ...  
>My power over you grows stronger yet ...<em>

_And though you turn from me,_  
><em>to glance behind,<em>  
><em>the Phantom of the Opera is there - inside your mind ...<em>

_Those who have seen your face draw back in fear ..._  
><em>I am the mask you wear ...<em>

_It's me they hear ..._

_Your/My spirit and my/your voice in one_  
><em>combined: the Phantom of the Opera<em>  
><em>is there - inside yourmy mind ..._

_He's there,_  
><em>the Phantom of the Opera ...<em>  
><em>Beware the Phantom of the Opera ...<em>

Kurt was absolutely positive that if Sam kept gazing at him so intensely, his blue eyes darkened to a distinct navy that his voice would crack through the cadenza series.

_S__ing my angel of music_

_Sing my angel_

_Sing for me_

_sing my angel_

_sing for me_

_Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation  
>Darkness stirs and wakes imagination<br>Silently the senses abandon their defenses  
><em>

Kurt stood stock still watching Sam out of wide doe eyes, since when had his voice been so deep and rich. His toned body was accentuated by the dark material of his costume; his usual shaggy blonde hair was slicked back and half his face covered by the white mask. Conscious of the evident presence of the silent audience Kurt mentally prepared himself for the next set of staging, but Sam seemed to have other plans. He grabbed Kurt around the waist tightly; his strong hand clutching Kurt's hip, leading his across the set of the Phantom's lair.

_Softly, gently night unfurls its splendor ... _

Sam leaned it only millimeters from Kurt's ear, as if to whisper the lyrics in his ear. Kurt felt a violent shiver go up his spine, as Sam spun him around so they were facing each other, gripping Kurt's hands in his.

_Grasp it; sense it, tremulous and tender _

Sam gently cups Kurt's face with his hand, brushing the bangs of his wig out of his face.

_Turn your face away  
>from the garish light of day,<br>turn your thoughts away  
>from cold, unfeeling light<br>and listen to the music of the night  
><em>

Suddenly Sam was clutching Kurt's waist again, spinning him around his arms so his back was pressed against Sam's chest. The strong leather gloved hands held his hip bones firmly in place.

_Let your mind start a journey  
>through a strange new world!<br>Leave all thoughts  
>of the world you knew before!<br>Let your soul take you where you  
>long to be!<em>

"_Only then can you belong to me," _Sam's breath is hot on the shell of Kurt's ear.

_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication!_

Kurt gasped as Sam's hands covered his, slowly dragging them up the expanse of his girth, from his pelvis bones up his sides, settling on his chest, squeezing on the skin through the fabric of the dress, a series of shivers rolled slowly Kurt's back, his face burned with embarrassment at the very real sensation of heat pooling beneath his waist.

_Touch me, trust me savor each sensation!  
>Let the dream begin,<br>let your darker side give in  
>to the power of the music that I write -<br>the power of the music of the night  
>of the night<em>

Sam gingerly moved a piece of hair from Kurt's face, his other hand on the small of Kurt's back. His deep navy eyes were lidded heavily, his pupils blown.

_You alone can make my song take flight  
>Help me make the music of the night<em>

The violins faded, the audience erupted with a roar of applause and just as he was being whisked away in the black out by Santana, he swore he saw Sam smirk at him, winking at him with his unmasked eye.

All throughout his romantic duet with Finn, Kurt found it difficult to concentrate on his co stars deep brown eyes and project feelings of true love when there was rage radiating in every pore of his body.

_I gave you my music  
>made your song take wing<br>and now how you've repaid me  
>denied me and betrayed me<br>He was bound to love you  
>when he heard you sing<br>Christine...  
><em>

As he and Finn sang through there harmonies backstage, Finn kept shooting him confused looks, but Kurt didn't notice, he was too busy glaring at Sam.

_You will curse the day you did not do  
>all that the Phantom asked of you!<em>

Kurt pushed his way through the crowd of technicians unplugging Sam's microphone, almost tripping over the long purple cloak he was wearing. Sam saw him and smiled, taking off his half mask.

"Kurt!" Sam said, a bright smile illuminating his face. "You were incred-

"How dare you!" Kurt shrieks shrilly. Everyone backstage is silent, everyone's eyes on them. Kurt knows he should lower his voice; the audience probably hadn't left the auditorium yet. "What the hell is wrong with you? How dare you, change the staging like that. You perverted bastard!

"What the fuc-

Kurt can no longer contain his rage and punches Sam square in the cheek.

Somewhere in the haze of atmosphere something drops that makes a loud clang on the floor. In stunned alarm, mouth gaping open, Kurt looks down at his loosely clutched fist, his knuckles dusted purple.

"Sam I-umph

In a rush of adrenaline, Kurt feels Sam's full lips slam against his own, teeth clanking together, and tongue lapping into his opened mouth.

Sam pulls away after a few moments, his face morphing from a flush of pink to stark white before taking off, pushing through the crowd of the cast, his steps echoing down the hallway and a door slams.

Kurt is suddenly being pulled off to his dressing room by Mercedes and Tina.

"Change now, talk later," Mercedes instructed grabbing a black satin dress from the rack thrusting it in Kurt's arms. "We start in ten,"

* * *

><p>Still in his state of shock Kurt leaves the dressing room, his microphone is connected; the curtain will open in a few moments.<p>

"Hey, Kurt!" it's Mike, walkie talkie in his hand. "Do you still need Artie to do the close up shots for the video?"

Kurt nods quickly and Mike whispers an affirmation. The familiar music begins and Kurt holds up his skirts and steps onto the stage, the rather unnecessary fake snow falling on his head. The face of his mother flitting through his thoughts as he spotted his father, beaming with pride in the front row and a single tear ran down Kurt's cheek.

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
>Wishing you were somehow near<br>Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed  
>Somehow you would be here<em>

The finale scene was drawing closer, and somehow, Kurt had luckily not run into Sam between scenes. Before stepping out into the wings, Kurt sees a familiar figure passing on the opposite side, a script clutched in his hand, blonde hair glowing in the dim lighting. Sam's nerves were palpable

Kurt smirked; two could play at the game.

_Past the point of no return  
>No backward glances<br>Our games of make believe  
>Are at an end<br>Past all thought of if or when  
>No use resisting<em>

It was obvious through his tentative movements that Sam was being cautious, though the seductive, mysterious tone of his voice remained unchanging. He kept a fair share of distance from Kurt, who was daintily sitting on a stool, playing with a flower in his lap, silky crimson skirt, hitched up slightly, and revealing smooth pale legs.

_Abandon thought and let  
>The dream descend<br>What raging fire will flood the soul  
>What rich desire unlocks it's door<br>What sweet seduction lies before us_

Kurt fluttered his eyelashes as he bit his lower lip and smiled impishly as Sam visibly swallowed between verses. He wasn't the only one who could play the game.

_Past the point of no return  
>the final threshold<br>What warm unspoken secrets will we learn  
>Beyond the point of no return<em>

Kurt sauntered slowly toward Sam, letting his hips circle slightly as he walked.

_You have brought me  
>to that moment when words run dry<br>to that moment when speech disappears into silence, silence  
>I have come here<br>hardly knowing the reason why_

He ran his hand over Sam's chest and down to his abdomen, singing the words close to his ear, mimicking the whispering action from the scenes before.

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining  
>defenseless and silent<br>Now I am here with you  
>no second thoughts<br>I've decided ... decided_

_Past the point of no return  
>No going back now<br>Our passion play has now at last begun  
>Past all thought of right or wrong<br>One final question _

Sam suddenly clutched at Kurt's waist, even through the black mask covering the top half of his face, his body demonstrated his thoughts of surrender as he drew Kurt close to him, pressing their hips together roughly, and cupping his face.

_How long should we two wait before we're one?  
>When will the blood begin to race<br>The sleeping bud burst into bloom  
>When will the flames at last consume us<em>

Kurt slinked out of Sam's grip and they began to circle each other predatorily. The audience had disappeared to them long ago, all that existed them was the other's lust blown blue eyes.

_Past the point of no return  
>The final threshold<br>The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn,  
>We've passed the point of no return<em>

As the final notes of the duet rang out they finally found themselves clutched close to each other, bodies pressed together tightly, and groins growing hot. Sam's hands were literally shaking against Kurt's waist.

_Say you'll share with me_

_One love one lifetime_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude_

_Say you'll want me with you here_

_Beside you_

_Anywhere you go let me go too_

_Christine, that's all I ask of-_

His hormones and mind overpowering his body, Kurt surged his lips forward crashing them against Sam's. After a few beats of immobility, Sam moved his lips back against Kurt's, brushing their tongues together before pulling back, breathing heavily.

Regaining his senses, and the presence of the audience, Kurt ripped off Sam's mask, revealing his prosthetic deformity.

"Um, Mr. Schue, was that, was that scripted?" Finn asked, his voice laced with confusion.

"No,"

The respect and salvation of the Glee Club rose with box office sales. McKinley's abridged production of _Phantom_ rose to greatness. Local theatre critics raved about the dazzling anonymous leading lady and her counterpart Sam Evans, the understudy who saved the night. They ate up the new sexualized, raw and romantic dynamic that was given to the Phantom/Christine relationship, despite its raciness for a high school show. Even the student body at McKinley couldn't get enough of the hot mystery girl and the new guy.

Each show goes better than the last and Kurt is treated like a hero, even Rachel has begun to gradually warm up to him, not only that, but his secret identity hadn't even been questioned

But Kurt didn't wait in anticipation all so get strapped into a corset for the love of the stage, his heart hammered as Mercedes did up hi s dress because the only time he Sam had interacted, had been in character.

After the curtain call of opening night, Sam had booked it off the stage and into his dressing room and did so after every performance.

In the third week of the performance run, Kurt banged on Sam's dressing room door, not caring that anyone could walk back stage and find him. Santana had walked past him with Brittany giggling like mad.

_"Dios mio Kurt, let the boy jack off in peace," Santana teased. "Oh don't give me that look Lady Lips; it's kind of obvious what Sammy does after every show,"_

Kurt had merely blushed and mumbled something sarcastic under his breath before scurrying away to his own dressing room, so he could get home and do the same.

It was quiet, too quiet. Everyone wasn't due to arrive for another hour, but the tech people were usually scampering about. Yet there was a dead silence, and Kurt was a little paranoid to say the least. Kurt slowly got up, lifting up the hem of his costume; that he had somehow gotten himself into without help. Suddenly there was shallow noise that sounded like…footsteps drawing nearer to his dressing room.

"Hello?" he called into the silence. "Mercedes is that you?"

Closer.

"Tina, Rachel, Mike, Santana? Sam?"

Closer.

"Sam if that's you trying to scare me I'll kick your ass,"

Silence.

Suddenly a blaring beep went off and Kurt screamed, yet began to laugh when he realized it was his cell phone. He picked it up, checking the new text message:

_Angel of music, hide no longer, come to me strange angel_

"Sam?' Kurt's voice pitches higher.

His phone goes off again.

_Come to me Angel of Music._

He throws his phone to the floor, looking around frantically.

Kurt slowly turned the door knob, the door squeaked open and he poked his head out into the cold empty hallway.

"Sam?" he called again. "Please if that's you, stop it. You're freaking me out,"

Kurt crept down the hallway, his bare feet frozen against the grey concrete floor.

Foot steps pad softly and Kurt freezes.

"Sam please, you're scaring me,"

Kurt cautiously steps backward, goose bumps spring up on his skin, the eerie silence almost whispers to him.

"Shit Hummel, you really are a drag queen," says a nasally voice.

Kurt nearly jumps out of his skin and turns around rapidly only to be met with a strong blinding light. He squints his eyes in the brightness.

Complete with his video camera and tape recorder and horrendous outfit that even a nerd would call a fashion cop out was Jacob Ben Israel.

"Let me tell what's going to happen here Hummel," Kurt is stunned, although he has about a thousand dry insults on the tip of his tongue, he's never actually seen Jacob appear to be so, so terrifying. "As soon as Mr. Schuster gets here, you're going to tell him you're withdrawing as lead, in favour of Rachel Berry. I don't care what reason you make up, but if it isn't Rachel Berry on that stage tonight, belting her radiant voice out, then the unveiling of your identity and the outing of the new kid are going to be the head line of my new blog. Got it. Good. I'll be watching,"

Jacob disappears before Kurt can say anything; he stands there with his mouth half open for what seems to be a century.

He couldn't have been serious, Jacob wouldn't, he couldn't. No one was supposed to find out. Mr. Schuster and Coach Sylvester promised. His identity would be kept secret. They lived in Lima, Ohio. If anyone were to find out…Kurt shivered at the mere thought of the consequences. Then there was Sam. Poor Sam, too sweet and naïve to know what would be coming to him if anyone would ever assume he was gay. Being in the Glee Club had been hard enough on him. There was only one thing Kurt had to do. He had to withdraw. He already had what he needed from the musical, Artie had taped his performance on opening night, with all the designated close up shots as promised for his UCLA application. He was already a star, he didn't need some ridiculous high school musical to prove it and Sam's reputation was far more important than proving Rachel Berry wrong.

"What do you mean you're giving up the part!" Sam screeched.

He was standing in Kurt's dressing room. Kurt was curled up on the sofa, the white lace dress draped over the rack.

Sam had come barging in after Mercedes had come to get him frantically, begging him to talk some sense into Kurt.

"It's pretty self explanatory Samuel. I, Kurt Hummel, will no longer be playing the part of Christine in favor of Rachel Berry,"

"Where the fuck is this coming from Kurt?" Sam screamed. "Is it because of what happened opening night? Because I'm sorry,"

"You failed to mention that actually," Kurt replied, not looking up from his magazine.

"I'm mentioning it now!"

"Well you should have mentioned it after you decided to molest me on stage and then sexually assault me!" Kurt snapped, throwing the magazine down, standing up.

"_Molest you!_ Fuck Kurt, you kissed me back! And then _you _kissed _me_ on stage,"

Kurt was fuming. "You're getting completely off topic Samuel. Organize your thought better would you,"

"Would you stop calling me fucking Samuel!"

"It's _your_ name. Or are you too dim to figure that out,"

Sam exhaled sharply, his face void of his prior rage, replaced with genuine concern. He reaches out and places he hand on Kurt's forearm. "Would you just tell me why you're giving up the part for Rachel?"

Kurt swallowed thickly. _For you. _"I can't," he whispered.

"Please Kurt, why are you so scared all of a sudden? It's freaking me out,"

"I can't," Kurt repeats softly, avoiding Sam's navy gaze.

"Can't what?" Both boys turn to the door to see Burt Hummel standing in the doorway with Tina and Santana.

"Dad?"

"What the hell is going on here? Your friends told me something was going on Kurt. Is this kid giving you trouble,"

"I'm not any trouble, sir,"

"I wasn't talking to you," Burt turns to his son with a questioning glance. "What the hell is going on kiddo?"

"Nothing dad, Sam was just leaving,"

"Not until you tell me why," Sam pressed.

"Why what?" Burt raises an eyebrow. "What's going on Kurt. Everyone is freaking out here. So talk,"

Kurt remains silent.

"He's giving the part to Rachel," Sam says.

"Shut up Sam," Kurt whispers venomously

"This true, Kurt?"

Kurt hangs his head, admitting defeat. "Yes,"

"Mr. Hummel, you need to convince him not to. You can't let him do this!" Sam implores. "He's worked too hard for this,'

"I know he has. He's been saying he's a star since he was six, but Kurt's a man now, he can make decisions for himself," Burt says, surveying Sam carefully.

"If he's a man then maybe he should be brave and start acting like one!" Sam yells.

"Don't you talk to my kid that way!"

"Stop it both of you!" Kurt shouts. "I think someone is blackmailing me ok! Are you both happy now?"

Burt and Sam stare wide eyed at Kurt.

"That son of a bitch, I'm going to fucking tear his head off!" Sam rages.

"Violence isn't the answer," Burt says.

"But sir!"

"Listen Kurt, there are a lot of bad people in this world, people who are going to tell you that you can't do thing that you should. And if you let them start controlling you now, you'll be a push over. And you know that _no one_ pushed the Hummels around,"

Kurt nods.

"Now, you listen to this kid," Burt says clapping Sam on the back. "Get on that stage and you do what you love,"

Burt envelopes Kurt into a hug. "Hurry up and get ready kiddo,"

"Ok Dad,"

Burt and Sam step out of the room and into the hallway. Kurt goes to close the door but stops, listening to the sound of his Dad's voice outside the door.

_ "So you play for son's team or what?"_

_ "Undetermined,"_

_ "So you don't like guy?"_

_ "I'm not entirely sure Mr. Hummel. But I am extremely sure that I like your son. And I was hoping I would have your permission to take him out tonight after the show,"_

There's a pause.

_ "Make sure he's back by midnight,"_

Kurt smiled wider than he had in years, and rushed to get ready, he has an audience to blow away. And Rachel's face when she found out she wouldn't be the star again would be just as funny the second time around.

It was the second last show before everything would be coming to an end. _Phantom_ has run a successful 3 week term and more than enough money was raised to keep Glee Club going. Kurt's application for UCLA was complete and Sam was taking him out again tonight. Kurt Hummel couldn't be happier

* * *

><p><em>Past the point of no return<br>The final threshold  
>The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn,<br>We've passed the point of no return_

Kurt and Sam circled around each coyly as they sang. The music started to slow as they approached each other, reaching out their arms, grasping onto each other, bringing their bodies close together.

_Say you'll share with me_

_One love one lifetime_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude_

_Say you'll want me with you here_

_Beside you_

_Anywhere you go let me go too_

_Christine, that's all I ask of -_

SLAM

The music stopped and the audience began to whisper and gasp, all of their head turned back to the doors of the auditorium. Kurt and Sam looked toward where everyone's eyes were drawn and gasped.

The auditorium was being filled with a new crowd of people, many of them had large wooden signs in their hands, they were chanting and reciting things at once in chaotic order, making it hard to decipher what they said. But in Kurt's opinion, their signs made it rather clear what message they were trying to send.

_**"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them"**_

"_**God made Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve**_

"_**And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet."**_

"_**Annihilate the homosexual agenda"**_

"What the hell?" Sam says turning to Kurt, confusion twisted into his face.

Kurt doesn't meet his eyes, he's too preoccupied with the sight of the mob that has infiltrated the auditorium. Although he knows stuff like this happens, all the time, he'd only ever seen in from the safety of his living room on the blaring television. Never in all his life did Kurt think this would ever happen.

By this point the rest of the Glee Club is on the stage, costumes mismatched. The only person who doesn't seem to be in shock is Coach Sylvester, whose trembling in rage, her screams drowned out by the mob.

A man wearing a pastor's garment and has a thick strawberry blonde moustache, who must be the leader of the mob, is facing his supporters, his speech fill with slurs and offense that make Kurt quiver with shame. Tear running unashamedly down his cheeks as the man point directly at him, pulling something out of his pocket, the filmy paper glints in the light and Kurt begins hyperventilating.

"This can't be happening," Kurt whispers frantically over and over again.

"Kurt?" Kurt finally looks up into Sam's navy eyes that are painted with genuine concern under his obvious anger. "Why do they have a picture of you?"

"I, I don't know,"

But he does know. Jacob Ben Israel.

"Let's get out of here," Sam says, wrapping his arm around a shaking Kurt, leading toward the steps of the prop riser.

"And may the faggots burn in hell where they so rightfully belong!" The mob leader bellows in the chaos and the group of protesters begins to exit; a shallow roar of cheers begins to erupt among them.

Kurt and Sam are nearing the rickety steps of the riser, when suddenly Kurt stops dead in his tracks, almost tripping over the long crimson skirt of his costume. A thick rancid smell begins to fill his nostrils rapidly and the room becomes unnervingly warm.

"Do you smell that?" Kurt asks, clutching tighter to Sam's arm.

"What are you ta-

Rachel Berry screams and the flames of hell are unleashed.

New found chaos erupts in the auditorium; people are screaming and crying, running rampantly. The smoke is heavy set and grey, flames are seeping through the wall, the black curtains are alight. Kurt is maneuvering purely on instinct, and the hypersensitivity of his hearing.

Somewhere within the smoke he can hear familiar voice, only instead of their usually musical timbre they are horrific screams. He can hear his friends scream each other's names frantically, attempting to find each other in the flames.

The smoke he blinded his direct line of sight, he can barely breathe, and he's gripping Sam's hand so tightly, it's beginning to numb.

Crack.

"What was that?" Sam coughs, strangling them along, trying to contrive down the steps.

"SAM LOOK OUT!" Kurt manages to scream hoarsely through the inhalant of smoke.

Sam screams. A metal pole from the ceiling comes crashing down, crushing Sam under his weight, crushing his legs beneath it.

"NO SAM!" Kurt cries.

He's still clutching desperately to Sam's hand. He summons all his strength pulling onto Sam's arm trying to pull him free, but with no avail.

"Please, please, please God!" Kurt sobs; tears and sweat coursing down his face, continually trying to push the metal of Sam's mutilated legs, the flames growing around him.

"KURT! Stop. It's no use, it's too heavy," Sam rasps, reaching out grasping Kurt's arm.

"No, no I'm not leaving you here,"

"Save yourself Kurt, please, do that for me,"

"No I won't leave you here to die," Kurt tries to push again, his biceps blazing with pain.

"Kurt, Kurt, KURT! Stop. Look at me, please, just look at me," Sam pleads and Kurt looks into his bright navy eyes. "You can't move this by yourself-

"Yes I can," Kurt insists, pulling at the burning hunk of metal.

"No you can't. Get out, find help,"

"I'm not leaving you,"

"You have to. Please Kurt. Do this one thing for me. Please I'm begging you," Sam begins to cough violently, eyes bloodshot, hot tears coursing down his face. "Please,"

"Sam, I..." Kurt can barely speak, sob choking his word.

"Kurt, please," Sam pleads again, whispering, Kurt almost can't hear over the crackling of the flames surrounding them. "Please," he rasps again, reaching out trembling soot covered hand to cup Kurt's face, slamming their faces together, lips smashing together roughly and desperately. The kiss is all teeth, tongue and devastatingly beautiful; Kurt can taste the salt in his mouth.

Sam breaks his mouth away. A thundering rumble can be heard from above them "Now go! GO!"

Kurt hesitates, giving Sam one last desperate look, hoping that his face expressed everything he couldn't say.

"RUN,"

Kurt runs.


	14. Chapter 14

**Warnings/Triggers: **swearing, derogatory language, homophobia

* * *

><p>Chapter 14<p>

_Present Day._

Blaine runs.

He runs right out of the choir room and down the dark hallway; dim lights flickering, hoping that somehow he could catch up with Kurt, even though the clicking of his combat boots against the tiled floor has long faded away.

He runs out of the darkness, the main hallways of the school blurring past him, brushing roughly against students that loiter about, ignoring annoyed glances and a shouting elderly teacher. By the time he stops he's back where he started, in front of the main double door. Blaine catches his breath and looks around for a glance of Kurt's dark spiked hair, or darkly clothed lithe body in the brightly painted corridor. But he seems to have vanished again. Blaine storms out of McKinley, doubled doors banging against the wall behind him and rushes briskly to his car and slams the door behind him.

Exhaling sharply, Blaine leans back against the leather seats, letting his head bang back against the head rest, dragging his hand over his face. The memory of Kurt's light airy voice saying his name, played over and over again, as well as the words that followed after.

What was Kurt hiding from him?

Contrary to Kurt's belief, Blaine wasn't quite that stupid, it was obvious, _a fire._ The charred, bare remains of what had once been the choir room were the result of a fire.

But how?

Blaine takes his cell phone out of the glove box and turns it on, it immediately begins to vibrate violently in his palm, several text messages and missed calls pop up on the screen. Most of them telling him to get better soon or homework assignments he had missed. Feigning ill had been the only way to be excused from school. Although he felt guilty for lying to Quinn; who had been nothing but honest to him had believed his little white lie when he called her the night before. At first she had been particularly annoyed, but her voice softened when he made his voice crack and sound nasally as he explained he was ill. Quinn quietly asked him if he needed her to come over and check on him, as his parents were out of town on business. Blaine had politely declined of course and Quinn had simply and luckily went along with it and told him to call her when he felt well enough.

All his life Blaine had been conscious about the kind of woman he was expected to marry and if anyone fit the bill, it was Quinn. They were good together and everyone thought so. Not only that, Quinn was one of the most kind and understanding person he knew, and he loved that about her. Underneath her pristine mask of radiant beauty there was there was a human being, with soul and with depth. The sad lonely prologue of little Lucy was an evident proof of it.

Blaine smiled forlornly to himself, remembering Quinn, green eyes wet with tears as she retold the tale of her heart wrenching upbringing as Lucy in Lima. How she had spent her preteen years dejectedly in the library, flipping through books-

"_Library_," Blaine says to himself. "That's it,"

The Lima Memorial Public Library wasn't entirely too hard find. Quinn had talked about it, the large historical stone building in the center of town, where Lucy had spent time devouring books while her mother worked.

Information about the fire had to be here. Surely an incident like that at the high school had to have been covered in the local paper or news station or something. Anything.

Yet, after scourging through the newspaper archives and news reels he found absolutely nothing. He even asked the librarian about a fire at McKinley and she had simply scrunched her eyebrows together, looking at him strangely and said there hadn't been a damaging fire at McKinley in decades.

Blaine left in a huff after the librarian had walked away from him, telling him he asked too many questions. Unfortunately the only part about the library that had been accurate according to Quinn's description was the homeless man who slept under the bench.

* * *

><p>Blaine flipped through the Thunderclap violently, flipping back and forth from page 87.<p>

_Rachel Berry, Finn Hudson, Tina Cohen-Chang, Artie Abrams, Noah Puckerman, Mercedes Jones, Michael Chang, Matthew Rutherford, Santana Lopez, Brittany Pierce, Sam Evans, Kurt Hummel._

He knew their names, their faces. He knew every single thing the McKinley High School library had to offer about the New Directions. All that was missing was their stories. The stories that Kurt refused to tell him. Blaine fiddled with the gold cross hanging on his neck; it felt exceptionally heavy as he thought of Kurt's words, the anger in his stormy cerulean eyes. Blaine slammed the yearbook shut in frustration. He paced momentarily, how was he going to find anything out, Kurt wouldn't tell him, no one else seemed to know anything.

BANG. Blaine hissed in pain, as his head banged against a metal shelving unit, he shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead soothingly, hoping there would be no lump. Adjusting his vision, wiping the water from his eyes, he observes that the shelf is packed full of VHS tapes, most of the labels reading _Cheerios_ and _Titans Vs._ the names of various other teams. He peruses through until he finds something, a lone DVD case wedged between two tapes. Blaine pulls it out, blowing the dust off the case.

_N.D. 2009_

Blaine's eyes light up with wonder. Maybe, just maybe he had found something.

Blaine drove home as rapidly as he could, the disc case, mocking him from its place on the passenger seat. As soon as he gets home to his family's estate like home on Jefferson Avenue. He creeps around stealthily in the dark, checking to see if his parents had shown up unannounced from business trip. But the house was customarily empty, not even Rosa, the maid how usually lurked about left a note, excusing her absence on the kitchen counter.

Confirming his solitude Blaine rushes up stairs to his room and locks the door, turns off his phone and immediately inserts the DVD into the player. He settles himself on the bed and presses play on the remote.

The screen is dark for a few moments when suddenly the screen lights up and dark curtains, a man's voice speaks:

"_I'm pleased to welcome you all the William McKinley High School's production of _Phantom of the Opera_,"_

The curtains part and the dark stage is illuminated with light and the familiar scenery of Blaine's favourite musical. He sits back, letting the flow of the story and the melody of the classical songs he knows off by heart take him away, his curiosity piqued exceptionally high.

La Carlotta, played by who he suspects is Santana, is exceptionally hilarious, Blaine is snorting out loud as she storms off the stage leaving a flabbergasted Andre and Firmin.

"_A full house Andre! We will have to refund a full house!"_

"_Christine Daae could sing it sir!" _Tina, Blaine recognizes, dark hair piled in an elaborate bun.

"_But a chorus girl! Don't be silly,"_

"_She has been taking lessons from a great teacher,"_

Suddenly Tina goes into the crowd of girls who had performed the small ballet section and thrusts one forward. Blaine doesn't recognize her, the shot is distance, he gazes admiringly at her delicate figure, which was seemingly boyish. There was something alluring about her rather lack of curves.

_Think of me_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye_

Blaine's mouth runs dry and gapes open as she glides effortlessly through the song. She had the loveliest operatic quality. She was absolutely angelic, the spotlight radiating her porcelain complexion; she had quite possibly, the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. Blaine was unsure whether to feel guilty or not for this new found attraction, but it was normal wasn't it, for men to acknowledge attraction to a gifted woman despite prior commitment?

As the musical progressed, Blaine watched intently, the mysterious Christine completely captivating him.

_Turn your face away _

_From the garish light of day_

_Turn our thoughts away from cold unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night_

Besides the high quality singing, the acting was absolutely superb for a high school production, the Phantom was incredibly realistic, but never in his life, had Blaine seen such a sexualized staging, even considering that Blaine had seen _Phantom _several times.

Something flutters angrily in his gut as the Phantom basically molested Christine during _Music of the Night. _Molested, only because of the dubious, rag doll like movements Christine made as the Phantom run his hands over her chest and waist.

Unlike the sadistic, enthralling Phantom, Finn Hudson's rendition of Raoul was forgettable, Christine dominated the screen.

"Who is she?" Blaine wonders aloud to himself, crawling down his bed, closer the TV, but the shot is too distant, and the outline of her face is still blurry.

Despite the unclear image of her features, _Christine _continued to enthral Blaine, as she floated elegantly and effortlessly across the stage, her enchanting presence was just as pristine and angelic as her beautiful high clear voice. Blaine imagined how soft her pale skin would be under his palms, silky hair knotting in his fingers, how easy it would be to grip the smooth contours of that lithe body. Blaine groaned, at the mere idea of it, and heat began to slowly pool in his groin.

_You were once my one companion  
>You were all that mattered<br>You were once a friend and father  
>Then my world was shattered<br>Wishing you were somehow here again  
>Wishing you were somehow near<br>Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed  
>Somehow you would be here<em>

Christine wandered alone onto the scanty graveyard set, flakes of fake snow falling into the black hood of her cloak. The simple black dress accentuated her litheness and radiance of her pale complexion.

_Wishing I could hear your voice again  
>Knowing that I never would<br>Dreaming of you won't help me to do  
>All that you dreamed I could<em>

Blaine bit his lip hard, his erection slowly growing. She must be beautiful, sinfully so; Blaine thought to himself, even Quinn never made him feel like this, so vulnerable, so exposed, so _aroused_.

_Passing bells and sculpted angels  
>Cold and monumental seem, for you the wrong companions<br>You were warm and gentle_

Slowly and cautiously, Blaine let his hand wander down to his crotch, he hissed as he made contact through the warm bulge through his pants, stroking it lightly.

_Too many years fighting back tears  
>Why can't the past just die?<em>

This, this feeling of _arousal_, must be what Jeff and Nick talked about in the change room after lacrosse practice. The dulled sense of blissful stimulation. Blaine really didn't know why he didn't try it sooner, he was human, and one selfish little sin surely wasn't going to kill him.

_Wishing you were somehow here again_

Suddenly the music heightened from the television, and on the screen, Christine tossed aside her bouquet of roses and threw her hood back from her face. Her voice heightened with beautiful raw emotion, bringing tears to Blaine's eyes as he gazed on in awe. The shot of the camera began to shift closer and closer.

_Knowing we must say, "Goodbye"_

Blaine let his hand stroke a little bit faster as Christine's features got progressively clearer and enticingly more beautiful. Her jaw line was well defined, sculpted cheekbones, lips stained deep red, and her eyes a deep blue. Blaine's eyebrows furrowed together, she was so _familiar._ Where had he seen her before, her jaw line, maybe her nose, he thought back to the countless faces of the Thunderclap. She looked like...no, no it couldn't be, she couldn't, how was it even possible...

_Try to forgive, teach me to live_

_Give me the strength to try_

"Kurt?" Blaine said under his breath raggedly.

No. It couldn't be. It just couldn't. As Blaine stared at the screen longer, it donned to him that it very well _could_ be

Kurt with his haughty expressions and venomous airy voice, dripping with hints to the mystery of McKinley High. Kurt, whose sad cerulean eyes were laced with perplexing melancholy and resentment. The boy who was the personification of masculinity, with his leather jacket, spiked, haphazard hair, scent of cigarettes musk, potty mouth and strong arm despite his delicate feminine face.

Blaine closed his eyes and tried to imagine Quinn. Beautiful sunny Quinn, in a white sun dress, laying carelessly in a green field. But the image of Kurt leaning against the doorway of the choir room, cigarette dangling out of his perfect pink lips, the long expanse of his neck revealed, muscles in his thighs accentuated in his form fitting pants danced behind Blaine's shut eyes. Blaine's erection tightened hotly.

"No, no, no, no, no," he whimpered, willing it to go down. "Please God no,"

Nothing happened; the erection still stubbornly throbbed against him painfully. He began feeling lightheaded.

Blaine quickly ran out of his room, down the hall to the bathroom, ripping off his too tight clothes as he went. He turned on the water and jumped under the freezing cold stream. Blaine breathed a heavy sigh as the hardness of his penis slowly began to deflate. Exhausted, Blaine let himself slide down the tiled wall of the shower and just sat for a moment, breathing heavily. He remembers exactly why he chose not to masturbate in the first place...but more importantly:

_Since when did McKinley have an auditorium?_

* * *

><p>Since when did McKinley have an auditorium? Blaine figures he had explored the place enough to know it's every twist and turn. His footsteps echoed throughout the hallways of McKinley in a quickening crescendo with Blaine's growing frustration. It seemed as soon as all the clues began to add up, something else was added, sending him right back to square one.<p>

He ran through the vacant hallways, ignoring the stares of the students how remained, map clutched in his hand. At the back end of the school he reaches the great double doors, the faint words _Auditorium _written over it, obviously faded over time. And wrapped around the door knob was a thick black metal chain, locked with a steel padlock.

Another dead end.

Blaine growled with frustration, nothing made sense, all of his clues jumbled around in his head; Kurt's every word of Kurt's light venomous timbre echoed.

_"Oh, and by the way, it helps when the Glee Club you're spying on actually exists,"_

"_Sure they can, you should know better,"_

_Do yourself a favour; give it up and go home Blaine,"_

What was Kurt hiding?

"What are you hiding from me, God damn it," Blaine cursed kicking the door violently over and over again, slamming his fists against the wood, pulling at the chain in his frustrated rage.

"You're looking for Kurt Hummel aren't you?"

Blaine froze at the sudden sound of an unknown nasally voice speaking the enigma's name. He turns around slowly, only to find a seemingly familiar face of McKinley. He had seen her once before, still garbed in her pepper covered jumper, thick glasses hung off her pug nose, mousy brown hair drawn into pigtails. A homemade looking plastic bead necklace hung around her neck, _Suzy _it read.

"How did you-

"You won't have any luck finding him around the school. He's never usually in the school longer than first period AP French," Suzy says, her eyes shifting from left to right, paranoid, as if she feared someone was watching them.

"But why?" Blaine asks intrigued.

"How should I know?" Suzy shrugs.

"Do you know where I can find him now?" Blaine's hazel eyes are wide with ruse, finally someone who knew _something._

"I told you, he leaves campus after first period, and then there is never any sign of him," Blaine breathes heavily through his nose, lowering his eyes in defeat. "But if you're lucky, you could catch him under that bleachers with the other skanks, if he's anywhere on campus, it would be there,"

"Thank you Suzy," Blaine tells her sincerely, before turning to leave. "I appreciate your help, but why are you helping me exactly,"

Suzy shrugs again, looking across the top of his head with longing. "This is a really, really small town. And rumour has it that some preppy buck boy has been meeting up with the tranny slut on campus. I would just be careful if I were you, you don't want to mix in with the wrong crowd in these parts,"

"Wait? What?" Blaine asks exasperated. "But I'm not-

Suzy had already begun to walk away. "Wait! Suzy," Blaine called to her down the hallway, the bell rung and students began to flood the hallways. "You need to tell me what happened at McKinley?"

Suzy sighed, not turning around to face Blaine. "It's not my tale to tell,"

* * *

><p>The early October air was crisp and cool, but Blaine paid no mind to it as he rounded the corner of the path behind the bleachers. He knew he was getting closer as the stench of tobacco and something stale filled his nostrils.<p>

As soon as the top of Kurt Hummel's messy dark hair and leather covered back came into eyesight, Blaine felt a furious gust of somersaults flip around in his stomach. He tried to erase the blurred foggy memories of Kurt in a tight corset, cascades of wavy hair down his back, his long sinewy arms placed ever so delicately and that angelic voice that had made him so aroused. It was just an illusion, he told himself again, the dress and the makeup had been the ploy. He had thought Kurt was a girl, surely a harmless mistake. _Normal _people make mistakes all the times. Besides, Kurt most certainly didn't look like a girl now, clothed in his form fitting black jeans and worn leather jacket, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. There was absolutely no incessant fixation; the cold shower had fixed that, just like they had said it would. The butterflies in his stomach were simply to do with nerves, and his perpetual fear of the girls Suzy had referred to as the "skanks". That was all. Just nerves. Blaine swallowed.

"Kurt!" He turned around, cigarette held between his long pale fingers, stance rigid, a look of grimacing distaste across his lips "I need to talk to you,"

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "What the fuck are you doing here Blaine? I thought I told to stop stalking me. And to... GO. HOME,"

The skanks had formed tightly around Kurt, as if a defensive mechanism had been set off. All of them had angry glares; Blaine swore that one of the fairly larger girls had even growled at him.

"Not this prissy bitch again," the darker skinned one snarls.

"Rumours true Kurt? Got yourself a fancy twink. How much did he cost you, ten bucks?"

"I'll pay you ten bucks if you let me beat him for you Kurt," the one Latina girl says, cracking her knuckles. Blaine winces, he had no doubt she could beat him up

Blaine flushed at the insult, nostrils flaring in anger. "Shut up Zizes, Mac. He's not worth the effort," Kurt scoffs, turning around, sauntering over to the stone ledge, spitting his cigarette onto the ground, stomping on it with his boot.

"I know," Blaine begins slowly, cautiously approaching Kurt, who ignores him and chuckles darkly under his breath. "I know about the musical,"

Kurt froze mid motion. Some of the girls looked stricken, eyes wide, Blaine swears he heard a gasp, but at this moment, his entire focus is on Kurt, whose cerulean eyes darkened like dark angry ocean storms.

Suddenly Kurt was stalking toward him violently and grabbing his arm in a tight clutch, dragging him away from the bleachers.

They made it all the way to the far lot of the parking lot, to a black Lincoln Navigator, Kurt whipped out his keys.

"Get in the car," snarls darkly, his face twisted with demonized anger, eyes dark. "I said: Get. In."

Blaine didn't think twice and sat himself in the passenger seat. He could feel his heart beating in his ear, blood pumping rapidly through his veins. Being in this car could be perpetually dangerous, Kurt was driving like a maniac, obviously above the recommended speed limit, but Blaine stayed in his seat, ever so often stealing a glance at Kurt, who started intently on the road ahead of him.

They reach, what appears to be some sort of school, yet the parking lot is deserted, the flag post bear and the faded letters of _Warren G. Harding Middle School _are marked on the side of the old sandy coloured building. Kurt is leading Blaine by the arm again, his strong hand warm and firm against Blaine's bicep.

Kurt throws open the front doors, pilots through bare empty hallways and through a small door. He leaves Blaine at the entrance, going up a few rickety wooden steps in a dark alcove. Blaine follows, and emerges on a small stage. The chairs in the small audience space are covered in a light coat of cobwebs, as if it hadn't been cleaned in only a few months.

"Where are we, exactly," Blaine asked looking around.

Kurt voices a dark emotionless chuckle. "You're asking me a redundant question, why am I not surprised. You know, if I were you, I would be pretty God damned pissed. I practically kidnapped you, you know,"

"Why did you bring me here?" Blaine asks again, his voice set an octave lower. He's getting frustrated, he's getting scared, he's getting angry, and he can feel all of it bubbling in his veins.

"Ooo, the little Christian's getting angry. That's it, get mad, get really mad," Kurt was circling around Blaine, taunting him; his eyes were dark hypnotic sea storms. "You wanna hit me? Do it. I dare you. _Hit me,_" Kurt is right up in Blaine's face now, whispering hotly in his ear. That musky scent of cigarettes and something that must be authentically Kurt is filling Blaine's nostrils.

Blaine stepped backward away from Kurt, he was uncomfortably close. "I'm not going to hit you," Blaine whispers.

"Why not? I deserve it don't I? Don't you think that the little faggot should get what it deserves?" snarls Kurt, flaring his teeth.

Blaine steps back, studying Kurt's predatory stance. It was hard to believe the somewhere underneath this messy hair, leather jacket and crude persona was the young boy from the yearbook picture, face half hidden under defacement, the talented effeminate soprano.

"Why are you so angry?" Blaine asks softly, almost pityingly. "Please," Blaine swallows. "Kurt, I just want to help you,"

"I've already made it perfectly clear that I don't _need _your help, I suggest that you just mind your own business, Blaine," Kurt gently pushed Blaine's chest with his index finger, his expression livid.

Blaine inhales through his nose deeply, hands shaking with the beginnings of a rage. "CUT THE CRAP KURT. You brought me here for a reason. Just tell me what happened to the New Directions and I'll leave you alone!" He swore angrily.

Suddenly, Kurt starts laughing, and Blaine stares at him incredulously. "You want to know what happened to them, I'll tell you," Kurt is almost maniacal, eyes practically black. "_They're dead. _They're all fucking dead. Mercedes, dead, Tina, dead, Artie, Mike, Matt, dead, Brittany, dead, Rachel dead, Sam, dead," He spits, counting them down on his fingers.

"Do you know what that's like Blaine? Do you? To wake up every god damn fucking day and almost every single one of the people you love are DEAD. And to know that it's YOUR fault. I killed them,"

Kurt is pacing, his whole body shaking, and dark eyes glassy, moisture gathering in the corners. Blaine stands stalk still, utterly stunned, mouth half opened.

"I killed them, I killed them, they're dead, they're dead, THEY'RE DEAD," Kurt's half sobbing hysterical, half screaming.

"Kurt," Blaine pauses, reaching his hand out to Kurt's trembling forearm. "I'm, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-

"Don't. Touch me," Kurt snaps viciously, pacing away from Blaine, one solitary tear coursing down his face as he defensively, steals his arm back. "Get away from me. GET AWAY!"

"Kurt! Kurt, wait, stop!" Blaine calls out desperately, but Kurt had already fled down the alcove, slamming the door behind him leaving Blaine abandoned on the small stage.

Blaine runs after him, into the hallways of the deserted middle school, out the front doors and into the parking lot, Kurt's black Navigator nowhere in sight.

* * *

><p>Dusk begins to fall, the autumn wind begins to pick up and Blaine still finds himself walking in circles and from what he can tell, he's definitely not in the right part of town. The houses have that chilling worn ghetto feel he's seen in bad action movies, there are rusted chain link fences around ratty front yards. A dark sports car with blaring music speeds passed him and a deep gruff voice shouts something derogatory. Blaine pulls his pea coat closer around him in the blistering cold, wishing desperately that he had his cell phone with him. But then again who would he call, as far as anyone in Westerville was concerned, he was in bed sick with the flu.<p>

A gun shot fired, and every hair on Blaine's neck stood up, fisting his hands in his pockets deeper, keeping his eyes focused on the dimly lit sidewalk.

He starts walking more briskly, when he takes notice of a car following him from the corner of his eye. The giant dark SUV slowly trails behind him and Blaine starts walking even faster, almost a jog, praying to God that he won't get mugged, or worse.

The SUV is caught up to him, slowly pacing next to him.

"Get in the car,"

Blaine pays no attention and keeps walking.

BANG. Another gunshot, it's closer this time. Blaine quickens his pace.

"Get. In. The. Car." The voice growls, the car stops. Another gunshot sounds.

Reluctantly, Blaine back tracks his paces, and speedily opens the door of the car, sliding into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him, exhaling in relief. The car speeds along the dark twisting roads of the ghetto.

"How did you know where I was?" Blaine asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, once they've long passed the ghetto, on an empty country road.

"Lima Heights Adjacent isn't exactly the best place to be walking at night," Kurt says sarcastically, gripping the steering wheel, not tearing his eyes from the road.

"You're really bad at answering my questions you know,"

Kurt chuckles, his elfin face void of emotion. "You're questions are particularly redundant, and I don't answer stupid questions,"

"You didn't have to pick me up, I could have found my way perfectly fine," Blaine insists. "You didn't have to go to all the trouble. You can just leave me here, I'll find my way back..." Blaine goes to unbuckle his seat belt.

Kurt laughs dryly. "You're crazy if you think I'm letting you get out of this car, alone, in the dark,"

"We're not in the ghetto anymore, and besides I can take care of myself,"

Kurt slams on the break, and pulls over sharply; he whips his head to the right, gripping onto Blaine's forearm roughly.

"Didn't you hear a word I said? You're not getting out of this car," Kurt's pale, almost ghostly face his illuminated by the blue glow of the dashboard, his eyes clouded with something dark, that Blaine couldn't quite place. "You thought the ghetto was bad? Downtown Lima is just as dangerous, worse. The last place you want to be is walking among the crude drunkards from the honky tonk bar. Lima's a small town, people talk and you painted a bulls eye on your forehead the second you had the audacity to walk into town in your fancy prep school uniform. As far as they're concerned you're some sort of glorified slut, and no one around here take kindly to prostitutes that aren't of the female variety. So I suggest that if you value any of the cemented together strands of hair on your head, you'll put your seat belt on and stay in the god damn car so I can protect you more easily," Kurt's eyes are glowing with fury, face set sternly.

Blaine sits himself back, and puts his seat belt back on, not tearing away from Kurt's intent look.

"That's better," Kurt says, pushing on the gas pedal and speeding along.

Blaine says nothing until they pull into the McKinley High School parking lot and park beside his car, which is surprisingly unharmed.

"Thank you, Kurt, but you didn't have to do that for me

Kurt sighs, still gripping onto the steering wheel with both hands. "Yes I did, it was the least I could do for abandoning you there. That wasn't right,"

"If it's any consolation," Blaine begins, biting his lip. "I'm sorry I wish-

"Stop," Kurt says quietly, but forcefully. "I don't want your pity,"

Before Blaine can reply, Kurt continues: "You know more than you should, I think it would be best if you went home Blaine,"

Blaine goes to open the door of the SUV, but stops mid motion and turns his head back toward Kurt, who is still facing front in his unmoving position.

"You have a beautiful voice," Blaine says quietly, bashfully.

Kurt sighs and just almost smiles. "I know,"

* * *

><p>The Way of the Light Church was a simple building in comparison to the multitudes of wealth that graced its pews every Sunday.<p>

Quinn can sense when he enters, the doors are closed quietly shut behind him, his footsteps cautious. It's about time he confront her, Quinn figures, it's been a little over a week after all.

"So the prodigal son returns," Quinn banters lightly as Blaine slides into the pew next to her, she doesn't shift from her position of prayer.

She hadn't been able to focus too well in ballet rehearsal, he allegro footwork had been less than its usual degree of perfection; even her teacher had noticed her distraction. Immediately following class she jumped into her car and drove to the church, her hair still tied back in a bun, dressed in yoga pants and sweater. Prayer and meditation usually helped her collect her thoughts, yet, at the moment she was more frustrated than ever.

"You're mom told me I would find you here," Blaine's hazel eyes are gazing at her shyly; he's nerve wracked, anxious.

"That must have been some flu," she teases. "You didn't answer any of my calls; I was worried about you,"

"I'm so sorry Quinn, I should have called or something, I…"

Quinn isn't stupid and she isn't ignorant, she knows perfectly well that he wasn't sick. He wasn't even home. She had gone over after school a few days ago to check on him, she had been worried. But Rosa, the maid answered the door and informed her that "Mr. Blaine" was not at home, he was out doing an important errand out of town. She wanted to know what he was hiding, but the last thing she wanted to do was start a fight.

She didn't expect Blaine to tell her everything, but she didn't want him to lie to her

"Shhh," Quinn chastises, brushing her hand across the curls that had escaped from his gelled hair, playing along, grabbing his hand. "It's alright, you're better now. That's what matters,"

Quinn leans in slowly, capturing Blaine's lips with her own, moving them slowly against his. Blaine accepts her kiss, letting their tongues brush against each other.

She's almost forgotten how good Blaine is at this, the warmth and safety of his embrace almost make her forget her doubts and annoyance. Blaine was perfect for her and she loved him. At least she thought she did. He was kind, intelligent, romantic, and musically talented. He understood and shared her Christian values and he was exceptionally handsome, which was a bonus. Blaine made her feel loved. Any other teenage boy would have run out the other way once they found out about her past or push her into sex. But Blaine was all in all a dapper gentleman. It was almost unrealistic. A Prince charming in the flesh and her every girlhood fantasy come true.

The only inexplicable issue was her occasional bouts of uneasiness, guilt. Usually after a troubled sleep, most likely due to a lost, suppressed nightmare that she never remembered.

* * *

><p><em>Blaine's lips softly caressed the smooth porcelain chest, brushing over the dusty pink nipples, strong, yet delicate hands gripping at his hair, light breathy moans of a light timbre. Bodies thrusting and rubbing together, sinfully slow in the darkness, groins hot touching tightly. Long sinewy fingers brushing against Blaine's pernium, the tight ring of muscle clenching as the finger slowly entered. <em>

_ "Kurt,"_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Reviews?<strong>_


	15. Chapter 15

**Warnings/Triggers: **Bashing of Christianity, homophobia?

I apologize for any grammatical errors. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 15<p>

It's just one more time Blaine promises himself as he pulls into the McKinley High School parking lot. Just once more and he'll go right back to school as he can't afford to miss another day. The curriculum at Dalton is harsh and demanding and the pile Latin and Chemistry homework is about five feet high and the choir needs him to help them prepare for their upcoming invitational; if the invitational fails, the school won't pay for the entry fees or the bus. Oh, and he still needs to make that set list.

As quickly as he can, Blaine makes his way through the straggling students of the hallway. He flushes and averts his gaze toward the floor as he sees some of them whisper to each other, other glaring at him like he's a piece of scum. He goes through the back door, the cool wind bites at his face and goes straight threw his black pea coat; he tugs his maroon scarf tighter around his neck

The wind is significantly less forceful behind the alcove under the bleachers, although the stench of tobacco is considerably strong. The one larger built girl, Ronnie he believes her name is the first to notice Blaine's presence.

She snorts. "You again? What did Kurt forget to pay you or something?"

Blaine clenches his fists, nostrils flaring at her blatant degrading insult.

"What the fuck are you doing here," Kurt spits, emerging from the corner, behind Mac, squashing his cigarette between his fingers. "I thought I made things _perfectly_ clear the other day!"

"Just let me explain!" Blaine supplicates, biting his lip. "I'm not stalking you! I promise. Just, just let me explain,"

"Go ahead then," Kurt says mordantly. "Explain,"

Blaine shifts uncomfortably, looking away from Kurt and toward Ronnie's continuous laughter and Mac's glare. "Can we go somewhere else please, for coffee or something?"

Kurt raises a single, perfectly formed eye brow and smirks. "Fine, but you're paying,"

Blaine drives carefully, following Kurt's monotony directions, to the outskirts of Lima, a few minutes away from the interstate; they pull up to a quaint café called _The Lima Bean._

They enter and Kurt seems more at ease than Blaine as ever seen him in the short time he has known him. His face softens considerably, his body language less tense. Kurt strides up to the lone barista and gives her an actual pleasant expression.

"Grande non-fat mocha please," he says and gestures for Blaine to go forward.

Blaine orders a medium drip and they choose a small secluded table on the left side of the café, away from the minimal patrons who are either scribbling away at a notebook and on a laptop.

They sit in silence for a few moments; Blaine cradles the warm cup of coffee in his hands.

"Ok, explain," Kurt says, placing his under his chin, leaning forward against the table.

Blaine shifts uncomfortable in his seat, thinking of the words to say, sighing, he, reaches into his messenger, and places the DVD case on the table, the sight of it on his dresser had paranoid him to end. Kurt's face becomes void of emotion, blue eyes blank and vast and Blaine finds him more difficult to read than usual.

"I, I thought I should return it," Blaine says carefully, slowly sliding it across the table toward Kurt, whose face was still undecipherable. "So, it won't get into the wrong hands,"

Kurt looks up, meeting Blaine's curious gaze and pushes the DVD case back to Blaine across the table. "Keep it; I already have a copy. If you wanted to do something with it, you would have done so already,"

Blaine averts from Kurt's subtle stare and takes a sip of his coffee, it's still scalding and he burns his tongue a little.

"I'm taking you watched it then?" Kurt says.

Blaine feels a blush creep up is neck at the hazy memory. "It was very good," Blaine begins, how could he forget Kurt's angelic voice. "You have a beautiful voice,"

"So you've said," Kurt replies cheekily. Blaine is a little stunned that he remembers.

"Look about what you told me," Blaine pauses, to see if Kurt will interrupt him, if he will get angry and maniacal like last time. But he remains calm, seemingly emotionless. "I'm really- I'm going to tell anybody. I shouldn't have pried liked that. It was none of my business and I'm sorry. I let my curiosity get the best of me,"

"That was very...admirable of you," Kurt says. "I accept your apology,"

Then, somehow, Blaine doesn't really know how, he starts babbling on about show choir and how he got himself stuck creating their set list, failed spying attempts and how his curiosity was a major character flaw on his part.

Kurt chuckles lightly under his breath, making playfully snide commentary as Blaine tells his story. He reaches into his own messenger bag and pulls out a purple folder, covered in an assortment of gold start stickers. Blaine opens the folder, its contents: sheet music, arrangement notes. In the footnotes of each page: _New Directions 2009_.

"Take it," Kurt says softly. "You obviously need more than I do,"

"I, I don't know what to say," Blaine falters incredulously.

"I believe 'thank you' would be the appropriate gesture," Kurt banters.

"I- thank you," Blaine is still reeling in disbelief, he was being handed a completed set list basically on a silver platter.

"Oh and one more thing,"

"Yes?" Blaine replies.

"You need to go home and never come back to McKinley. I need you to promise me Blaine," Kurt's face is grave, eyes penetrative pools of deep blue. Blaine shivers. "It's not safe,"

Blaine nods solemnly, not straying from Kurt's eyes.

"Thank you for the coffee," Kurt says standing up, putting his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabbing his cup. He nods curtly and leaves the cafe.

Blaine lets himself get one last look at Kurt Hummel, his porcelain elfin face, lithe form, spiky dark hair, those deep blue eyes for the last time. He waits a few moments, mulling over the fact that it was over, he knew as much as he probably ever would about the mysteries of McKinley High.

It was okay, he figures, because he has what he originally intended to retrieve from this whole mission; a set list.

* * *

><p>It's really only been a few days, but Blaine's absence has felt like a lifetime. He figures this is how Alice felt when returning to reality from the frenzied chaotic wonderland.<p>

As soon as he walks into the Senior Commons, it's as if he's been absent for as long it felt like. Everyone welcomes his return to Dalton triumphantly. Quinn hugs him tightly; nestling her head in the crook of his neck, he adores the feeling of warmth of her embrace. Nick and Jeff give him a clap on the back.

"We missed you man!" Jeff shouts exuberantly.

Even Annalise seems relatively happy to see him, was that a smile he saw?

"I'd like to apologize for my sudden ailment, but in reparation, I have something that I think you'll quite like," Blaine states reaching into his bag, pulling out a blue binder. "I have our set list,"

Wes needs to bang his gavel on the table a few times to regain order in the chaos and it took about 3 boys to hold back Annalise from pouncing on someone.

"I'm not going to sick back and watch the Anderson-Fabray show," She shouts malevolently. "No me gusta!"

"Actually, I was hoping we would be able to contribute some of your ideas into the arrangement Annalise. You're right, if we're going to impress at the invitational and win sectionals we need to show case all of our talent. Besides the mandatory duet that needs included at the competition, which has already been predetermined that Quinn and myself will sing, we need group numbers. That demonstrates all of our voices,"

"Blaine makes a solid point," Jeff agrees. "But what songs exactly did you have in mind?"

Jeff takes the binder and begins to flip through the page, he smiles. "You my friend are a genius," he exclaims. "I totally can't believe I didn't think of the classics sooner. I freakin' grew up on Journey!"

The meeting ends on a high note and Blaine walks Quinn to her car. "I'm impressed," she says. "To be honest, I was a little sceptical if you could do it. But you proved me wrong,"

Blaine rubs her shoulder affectionately. "We're going to be win this thing, I know it,"

He's too overcome with his initial accomplishment to notice the lurch in his gut as he kisses her gently.

* * *

><p>Extensive rehearsals and academic obligations take a toll on Blaine's stress levels causing his amount of sleep to significantly decrease. By Saturday night, he's ready to explode and is in desperate need of a relaxant and a good strong cup of coffee.<p>

After Sunday morning service; which he almost fell asleep during, - luckily his parents remain out of town and weren't there to scold him. Blaine doesn't drive straight home afterwards. He drives out of Westerville, onto the interstate and finds himself at _The Lima Bean_. It was really the best coffee he's ever had, and he really needs a good coffee.

He orders a medium drip from the same barista as the other day, settles at a table and takes a sip. Blaine closes his eyes as the warm liquid goes down his throat.

"You've got to be kidding me,"

Blaine swallows roughly, and opens his eyes.

It seemed that even when wasn't trying, the leaving Westerville meant somehow running into Kurt. Speaking of which, Kurt looked far from impressed. His hair was spiked up poorly, many of the strand flopping in his face, he seemed slightly paler than usual – if that was possible – and was wearing tight fitting...yoga pants?

Kurt's face is painted with icy anger, eyes glaring like sharp steel.

"I like the coffee?" Blaine advocates bashfully, his cheeks flushing hotly.

Kurt is quiet for a moment, then snorts loudly, sitting down across from Blaine at the table. "For once, I agree with you Anderson,"

"Oh, by the way, thank you again, for the set list," Blaine says, when Kurt returns from ordering a coffee; a grande non-fat mocha, Blaine supposes it's his usual order.

"Like I said, you obviously need it more than I do,"

Blaine smiles at him timidly, Kurt's eyes seem to have a ring of green around the pupil Blaine muses.

Then Kurt is going into his bag and pulling out a spiral notebook and a pen, he rips out a piece of paper and scribbles something down, although it's not exactly a scribble, in reality a precise loopy script. Kurt hands him the paper folded up.

"What's this?" Blaine asks, unfurling the paper, staring at its contents.

Kurt's eyes soften warmly. "My phone number,"

Blaine raises his eyebrows astounded, a grin blossoming on his lips.

"Since this seems to becoming a regular occurrence; running into one another that is, we might as well be somewhat prepared," Kurt says genuinely. "There's something about you Blaine Anderson,"

As soon as Blaine is back in his car, he whips out his cell phone and programs Kurt as a contact. His name stands out amongst the others on the list, bold and shining. Like it was the missing puzzle piece of sorts. Blaine can't explain it to himself, not out loud, not in his head. So he simply lets it pass, and let's himself bask in the rush of elation when Kurt responds.

* * *

><p>And so it begins. The coffee outings become a regular occurrence, as Kurt predicted. And slowly but surely Blaine begins to unravel to enigma that is Kurt Hummel.<p>

It begins slowly, as Blaine simple small talk and discussions about school work morph into incessant questions, which Kurt answers carefully, not unveiling too much information. That curious prying side of Blaine still secretly hopes to discover the truth behind the dark haunting aura that shrouds Kurt's glowing quick witted persona, the reason his deep blue eyes are laced with an angry melancholy.

There were several factors Blaine considers, although the one friend who left without saying goodbye seems plausible enough, the untimely tragic death of his mother could possibly be it. Blaine can tell how much he loves her, the way the speed of his voice sped up slightly and lightened as he recalled memories of piano lessons, ballet recitals and outings to Columbus for shopping and a musical.

Somehow they get off topic whenever music or theatre is brought up. Never in his life had Blaine met another teenage boy how loves Broadway and the arts to the same degree as him. It was invigorating, to know he wasn't alone.

Kurt's vocal dreams come to a shallow light; he mentions something about UCLA, scholarships and never setting foot in this cow town again. But Blaine when begins thinking about bringing up the incident, as if by magic, Kurt will change the subject and begin talking about his French essay or scold Blaine on his messy chemistry notes.

On one particular Wednesday afternoon – there was no rehearsal for choir and Blaine was free to escape Wes and Thad's clutches – he and Kurt were sitting in the Lima Bean, Kurt scratching away at his notebook, textbook open in his lap.

"Why don't you go to school?" Blaine asks suddenly, a question that had always been in the forefront of his mind, but never found the appropriate opportunity to ask, he had to be careful with Kurt, because one wrong word and he would close up and become a cold vault; secrets with it.

Kurt doesn't even look up from his notebook and replies. "To be safe," he pauses and Blaine just stares at him confounded, but Kurt just gives him that look - the look which Blaine understood that he was crossing an invisible boundary – and he refrains from saying anything else.

"I'm getting another coffee" Blaine says, hoping to lighten the mood, after his approximate breach.

He orders one for himself and one for Kurt, hoping that it would repair his fault; another thing he learned about Kurt, he lived off good coffee just as much as Blaine did.

"Here, I got you one," Blaine says, smiling a little, Kurt looks up and raises his eyebrows.

"Really," he replies, taking a small sip of the cup, after swallowing slowly he lowers the cup and looks perplexingly at Blaine. "You know my coffee order?"

Blaine flushes. "Of course I do,"

They say nothing for the rest of the afternoon, sitting in an eerily comfortable silence, and if Blaine's eyes weren't playing tricks on him…was that a half smile on Kurt's lips?

* * *

><p>"I'm so sorry I'm late!" Blaine exclaims. The Sunday service had gone a little later than usual and he had planned to rush the customary mingling formalities that followed – his parents were still away and he had to keep up the Anderson image of course – but then Quinn's father had sprung up a conversation with him about university, as Quinn's father, Russell Fabray was the last man Blaine wanted to snub. "I got caught up after church,"<p>

Kurt rolls his eyes a little "That's nice," he says returning to bookmarking his history textbook with sticky notes.

Blaine noticed the coffee cup at his usual place, not surprising, it was still lukewarm, he takes a sip. "You know my coffee order?" he remarks casually trying to lighten the mood, Kurt looks up briefly and nods and returns to work.

Kurt is ignoring him, even when he steps that invisible comfort boundary, Kurt has never ignores him.

"So, what denomination is your Church?" Blaine asks trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Mine's Protestant,"

"I don't go to Church," Kurt states simply, meeting Blaine's gaze, his face is rather stoic.

"Oh," Blaine states sheepishly. Maybe Kurt was of a different faith? "Do you worship somewhere else then?"

"No, I don't believe in God," Kurt says shrugging.

Blaine's eyes nearly pop of their sockets and he splutters on his coffee. "Wait! What! How do, I, don't-,"

Kurt snorts. "I. Don't. Believe. In. God. It's a pretty simple concept to grasp Blaine. TO think you go to your fancy private school where you need to take Latin or Ancient Hebrew as an elective and they don't even mention what Atheism is,"

"I know what Atheism is!" Blaine snaps. He's religious but he's not unaware.

"You've professed your beliefs, I'm stating mine. That's not a problem is it?" Kurt raises an eyebrow.

"No, it's just; I don't understand...why don't you believe in God?"

"I think God is kind of...what's the word I'm looking for...He's, He's kind of like Santa Claus for adults in a sense. Otherwise he's kind of an asshole. I mean He makes me gay than has his followers going around telling me I'm an abomination, that I'm unnatural and deserve to rot in hell for all eternity, just because of what my body deems natural.

"You're a homosexual!" Blaine exclaims, trying to wrap his head around what Kurt had just told him.

Kurt snorts again. "Oh please Blaine, I'm a living and breathing stereotype, it's kind of obvious,"

"But why? Why are you like...this?"

"I didn't choose _this_. As if someone would choose to be mocked every single day of their life. To never have a normal life, have a group of monstrous bible thumping ass hats show up to your musical and then attempt to burn down the school," Kurt is rambling angrily now, his eyes sharp and steely grey.

Blaine doesn't know what to say. In fact he doesn't say anything, how can he defend God's legitimacy to _that. _"Kurt, I'm, I'm so sorry, I didn't know,"

Kurt sniggers. "That's the thing with you bible thumpers. You never seem to _know_ anything. I'm just gonna go, I'll see you around Blaine,"

"Wait, Kurt!" But it's too late Kurt is already briskly sauntering out of the Lima Bean before Blaine can do anything about it.

Blaine hits his fist sharply against the table in frustration and he too leaves.

That afternoon when he gets home, his mother's car is in the driveway. Maria asks Blaine if he made sure to behave while she and his father had been away and Blaine assures her everything went fine. They were away for the company so often that for Blaine it was just part of daily routine.

After a quiet dinner Blaine slinks up to his room, he tries to work on the melody that had been churning about in his head recently, but he can't keep his thoughts off of Kurt. His name mocks him on his contact list, although Blaine figures it would be best not leave him alone.

Instead he prays.

He asks God how someone as wonderful and fascinating and talented as Kurt could possibly be an abomination. How he could deserve such suffering.

"Please God, protect Kurt and show him how special he is. I've been trying to be a good friend, I really have been, please help me understand him better. Oh and also God, could you please stop all the sticky goo that seems to be present every morning when I wake up...I'm not sure how to wash it out of fabric. Amen,"


	16. Chapter 16

**Warnings/Triggers:** discussions of the Christian religion, slight bashing of fundamentalism

* * *

><p>Chapter 16<p>

Quinn groaned to herself sharply, she was half way to her car when she realized that had left her sheet music in the Senior Commons.

Upon arriving in the school, she practically ran down the now familiar corridors, down the twisting staircase, sharply turning the corner, when she heard a familiar voice. Practice for the upcoming Invitational – mostly for the entertainment of the Board of Trustees - had ended a while ago. Of course Thad had argued that extra practice was required. He would have been annihilated by Annalise's rage had Heidi not nearly dragged her new boyfriend out by the ear, trying to ease his OCD tendencies. Unfortunately and subsequently, the only thing that eradicated her continuous whining was the insertion of Jeff's tongue in her mouth. Everyone hooted and hollered, or made a face of annoyance – namely Quinn and Nick – except for Blaine. He hadn't even looked up from his place at the piano, where he was furiously scribbling something down. In fact, he had been acting rather distant and closed off for the last few days.

As Quinn eased down the hallway, conscious of the clicking of her heels, the sound getting louder as she began to get closer and closer. She poked her head through the crack on the door, only to see Blaine sitting at the piano in the corner of the room, playing a slow melancholy tune, his eyes were focused on the keys, and suddenly he hit an obvious false note. Making a gruff frustrated noise he snatched the paper off the stand, crumpling it into a ball and throwing across the room.

"That was lovely," Quinn says, stepping into the room, Blaine looks up at her startles, hazel eyes wide. "At least until that bum note,"

"Thank you," He murmurs in reply, opening his notebook, and writing something on the top of the page. "What are you doing back here?"

"I forgot my sheet music," Quinn answers picking it up off the council desk, showing it to Blaine. "Practice ended a while ago, why haven't you left yet?"

"Mother's doing some sort of crazy renovations for one of her dinner parties, you know how she is. I can't concentrate with all the drilling and hammering,"

"That can't be the only thing bothering you," Quinn sits down on the sofa and pats on the empty spot, gesturing for Blaine to come sit next to her. "You don't need to tell me if you don't really want to, but I'm here to listen when you are,"

Blaine sits on the other sofa across from her, he begins playing at the gold crucifix that dangled from his neck and bit his lip. Quinn gazes at him with apprehension.

"Quinn, have you ever thought... do you," He exhales loudly gesturing his hands as he tries to form his question. "Have you ever considered that the Bible could be wrong about certain things?"

Quinn's eyebrows practically rise up to her hairline. Yes, religion was a common topic of conversation between them on several occasions, considering that they went to the same church and similar values they grew up with. But they had never discussed theology quite in the direction that Blaine seemed to be leaning toward.

"Well, of course, we're human, it's only natural for us to question things, religion is there to be interpreted," Quinn replies.

"So you don't believe what the Bible tells us?" Blaine asks hesitantly

"No, no of course not," Quinn says quickly. "I was raised to believe what the Bible says, but I've questioned things before. Is that what this is all about Blaine? Are you questioning your faith?"

"In a way yes..." Blaine bites his lips and averts his gaze in thought. "Do you think it's wrong to let someone's sin define them? To judge them for it,"

"It depends on the sin really..." Quinn stares at him confused...she's unsure of what Blaine is trying to ask her with how cryptic he's being... "Blaine I don't understand what you're trying to say?" Yet at the same time, Quinn has a very good idea of what he's trying to describe.

"If the Bible tells us that something is wrong, grotesque and someone commits it...it makes them wrong in turn, does it not?"

"Oh," Quinn replies. "Oh no of course not,"

Blaine's eyebrows furrow together. "But...aren't we supposed to...it's what Pastor Collins says every week... and my parents..."

"Personally, I think the Bible is an amazing tool," Quinn begins after a moment of collecting her thoughts. "It teaches great lessons on how to be a good person, and it gives me hope that there is more to life than just breathing and functioning. But at the same time, you need to remember that the Bible was written centuries ago, for a different society...some of the "rules" we're supposed to follow are completely ridiculous and inhumane to the standards of modern times. As society progresses, so should we, yet at the same time, not lose the core of our faith, but really...when you think about it, prejudice is just ignorance isn't it?" "

Blaine is staring at her wide eyed; he seems almost as if he's had some sort of epiphany. Quinn laughs lightly. "Did I answer your question then?"

Blaine bounds to the other sofa and wraps his arms around Quinn, pressing her body close to him. "You're amazing," he breathes into her soft golden hair

Quinn closes her eyes and exhales contentedly letting herself relax into his embrace, when his lips meet hers, any miniscule afterthought that had impregnated her thoughts diminishes.

_For now._

* * *

><p>The tension was palpable backstage at the Dalton Academy auditorium. Tonight was the night. The night that everyone had been working up toward: The Board of Trustees performance. If the Invitational was a success, they would be going to Sectionals to compete.<p>

Everyone was scattered about in the vicinity of backstage, Nick, Marissa and Carly were running scales, warming up their voices, Annalise was stretching and going over choreography with Jeff. Heidi, David and Wes were attempting to get Thad to stop pacing and predicting the failure of the performance and how everything was wrong.

"You nervous?" Quinn's airy voice asks, approaching him, her uniforms is pristine as usual, not a perfect blonde hair out of place.

"A little," Blaine replies honestly. "Mostly for my solo,"

"You don't have anything to be worried out, it's a great song, everyone loves McCartney," Quinn compliments and begins summarizing her own nerves about her solo.

However, Blaine is really only half listening through, despite his replies of encouragement, because Quinn is going to be amazing, she's a star. The thing, or person rather that is on the forefront of his mind happens to be the person who chose his song.

* * *

><p><em>"Seriously, Blaine, you're a musician and have been performing for how long? You would think you'd be able to pick out your own solo," Kurt teases mercilessly.<em>

_ They're sitting in the Lima Bean and Blaine is retelling about the latest rehearsal antic and his song dilemma. He needs to select a solo piece for the Invitational, and he's royally stumped, as he has a tract record for selecting "inappropriate" songs for performances._

_ "Please...I need you to pick it. After last year's disaster..."_

_ "I still can't believe you sang _Do Ya Think I'm Sexy _at a parent function, and jumped on furniture. I'm shocked they didn't expel you," _

_ "It was a good idea at the time..." Blaine pouts and Kurt rolls his eyes. "Just tell me what to sing... PLEASE,"_

_ "Want my advice? You can never go wrong with the Beatles,"_

* * *

><p>Kurt. They still hadn't spoken since their discussion about religion and the unveiling of Kurt's sexual orientation, subsequently with Kurt storming out in a bout of anger. Now that Blaine had mulled things over, and heavily reflected every factor. He couldn't let his friendship with Kurt slip away. Not after everything it took to build it. Maybe Kurt was a sinner; maybe he was going to hell. Or perhaps Quinn was correct in her viewpoint. He wasn't sure. What he was sure about however; was that he cared for Kurt too much to screw this up. He would go to Lima tomorrow and apologize in person.<p>

Blaine sighed. If only he came to his conclusion of indifference sooner, he had hoped to see Kurt's face in the audience tonight.

The Dalton/Crawford Inter School Choir takes their places on the stage, the curtains are drawn, and the spotlight illuminates and the music begins.

_Can anybody find me somebody to love_

...

_I work hard every day of my life  
>(He works hard)<br>I work till I ache my bones  
>At the end I take home my hard earned pay all on my own -<br>I get down on my knees  
>And I start to pray<br>Till the tears run down from my eyes  
>Lord - somebody - somebody<br>Can anybody find me - somebody to love?_

...

Jeff strums radically at his electric guitar, his fingers moving rapidly, hitting the strings. Every single person's voices blending together in perfect harmony and smiling wide, basking in the perfection of their performance.

_Can anybody find me somebody to love..._

Marissa and Heidi take center stage and begin to belt out the final powerful notes effortlessly. The song comes to close and the group drops their head in finale. There is a silence. Nobody moves, Blaine shuts his eyes tight, biting his lip, crossing his fingers. This was it, this was the moment.

When all of a sudden, the audience roars - including Mr. Fabray's unforgettable whistle - and rapidly get to their feet. Everyone slowly looks up in utter shock, which then transcends into joy.

Blaine looks over to Quinn who is beaming at him, green eyes glowing, and her face flushed.

They were doing it. They were really doing it.

* * *

><p><em>This is a man's world<br>This is a man's world  
>But it wouldn't be nothing<br>Nothing without a woman or a girl_

Blaine stare intently from backstage as Quinn dominates the stage, microphone gripped in her hand. Blaine thinks she was the only white blonde girl who could sing James Brown with so much soul.

_You see man made the cars  
>To take us over the road<br>Man made the train  
>To carry the heavy load<br>Man made the electric light  
>To take as out of the dark<br>Man made the boat for the water  
>Like Noah made the ark<em>

The spotlights are hitting her just so and her emerald eyes glisten with the sorrows of her past. It's moments like these where Quinn drops every layer of mask and bears her soul completely.

_This is a man's man's man's world  
>But it wouldn't be nothing<br>Nothing without a woman or a girl_

It's moment like these that Blaine remembers why he was drawn to her in the first place.

_Man thinks about the little baby girl  
>And the baby boys<br>Man make them happy  
>Cause man made them toys<br>And after man made everything_

It wasn't just the golden femme fatale beauty that he admired so or her immense talent or her intelligence, it was that hint of emotion in her eyes that made her so real, so human.

_Everything he can  
>Do you know that men make<br>To buy from other men  
>This is a man's, man's man's world<br>But it wouldn't be nothing  
>Nothing not one little thing<br>Without a woman or a girl_

There was something about Quinn's demeanour in that moment which sparked thoughts of Kurt. Kurt's deep blue eye's clouded with that same darkness, that same emotion - dare he say it – that same...beauty?

_He's lost in the wilderness  
>He's lost in bitterness<br>He's lost, lost somewhere now  
>In loneliness<em>

* * *

><p>The girls exited the stage and Quinn gave him a quick kiss on cheek in the wings before Blaine took a deep breath as he and the rest of the boys entered.<p>

_You'd think that people would  
>Have had enough of silly love songs<br>But I look around me and I see it isn't so  
>Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs<br>And what's wrong with that?_

Blaine gazed into the audience, he recognized people from church, teachers, he saw Ms. Archibald sitting next to his Latin teacher and lastly, much to his surprise he saw _both_ of his parents. Maria Anderson was beaming happily and with pride, and Kevin, he didn't seem entirely too bored. Which was an absolute first.

_I'd like to know 'cause here I go again_

Blaine put on his best face of charisma and focused on his mother and the other society ladies, hoping to charm them somewhat. From the blissful looks on their faces, whatever he was doing seemed to be working.

_I love you, (I love you)  
>I love you, (I love you)<em>

_I can't explain, the feeling's plain to me_  
><em>So can't you see?<em>  
><em>Ah, she gave me more, she gave it all to me<em>  
><em>Now can't you see?<em>

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, the crowd was eating up his cheesy actions and suave act. He hadn't been obsessed with old movies and idolized the leading men growing up for nothing.

_Love doesn't come in a minute  
>Sometimes it doesn't come at all<br>I only know that when I'm in it_

_It isn't silly_  
><em>Love isn't silly<em>  
><em>Love isn't silly at all<em>  
><em>(not at all)<em>

The one thing that would have made the performance complete however, was the one face that missing. _Silly Love Songs_ wasn't exactly the Beatles, but he was sure that Kurt would approve.

_I love you  
>(I can't explain, the feeling's plain to me)<br>(Say, can't you see?)  
>I love you<br>(Ah, he gave me more, he gave it all to me)  
>(Say, can't you see?)<em>

_I love you_  
><em>(I can't explain, the feeling's plain to me)<em>  
><em>(Say, can't you see?)<em>

As the crowd erupted into applause once again, getting to their feet, Blaine basked in the attention and approval, giving a bow. The entire choir joined him back on stage and gave their curtain call. Everyone was laughing and smiling, even Thad who was usually unbearably and pessimistic and seemingly miserable the majority of the time was swirling Heidi around on stage giggling.

Blaine ran toward Quinn and hugged her swinging her around in the air.

"We did it," He whispered, gazing into her eyes.

"We did it," she repeated.

In the midst of the commotion back door shut unsuspectingly, letting in only the slightest bit of frosty air.


	17. Chapter 17

**Warnings/Triggers: **Implied violence?, underage drinking, slight _dialogue_ spoilers for 2x03 and 3x05, _song_ spoilers for 3x05

* * *

><p>Chapter 17<p>

Blaine waited patiently at the usual table at the Lima Bean, tapping his fingers repetitively in the table top, he took a long sip of his coffee in hopes it would make him feel more awake. He hadn't been sleeping well lately mostly due to the fear of waking up wet and sticky and of course there had been the plaguing guilt that he was losing his hard earned friendship with Kurt. In lieu of his sleepless night, despite being exhausted after the show he had left Kurt at least four extremely long voicemails, all of them entailed long lengthy mismatched apologies, mostly about what an idiot he was.

A small gust of wind shot through the coffee shop. Kurt came bustling in, hair tousled messily, wearing baggy jeans and a worn red sweatshirt covered in smudge of grease, with _University of Cincinnati _written across the chest.

"You're here," Blaine says as soon as Kurt is close enough to hear him.

"Of course I'm here Blaine. You left me at least ten drunken voicemails in the span of 30 minutes last night," Kurt says annoyed, sitting down across from Blaine. "I have 20 minutes before I need to get back to the shop to help Will. So speak,"

"Well, I, I just wanted to apologize I- you're hurt!" Blaine suddenly changes her train of speech in reaction to Kurt absentmindedly pulling up the frayed sleeves of his sweatshirt. On his wrists were clusters of angry purple, nearly black bruises. He slowly reaches his hand to touch Kurt's injured wrist, rubbing it soothingly. Kurt hisses at the contact.

"Leave it, it's nothing," Kurt mumbles, shaking off Blaine's touch, yanking down his sleeves.

"No, it's not," Blaine insists, grabbing Kurt's wrists again, ever so gently pushing up the frayed sleeves. "Let me see it,"

"It's nothing," Kurt snaps, whisking his hand away once again. "Karofsky and his goons were giving me shit yesterday that's all, it's nothing new," Kurt sighs "It seems to be every straight guy's nightmare that all us gays are out to molest and convert them. Luckily for those ham hocks, they aren't my type. I'm not into chubby boys who sweat too much and are going to be bald by the time they're thirty. They can't punch the gay out of me anymore than I can punch the ignoramus out of them,"

Blaine just stares at Kurt, captivated by the green ring around his pupils of his hypnotic eyes, the darkness that shrouds within them mesmerizing him.

"What," Kurt spits at him. "You think I'm going to infect you too?"

"What! No of course not," Blaine counters quickly, regaining his thoughts.

"Really now...Could have fooled me. The way you were shoving that sermon down my throat the other day," Kurt seethes, rolling his eyes.

"About that..." Blaine begins. "I'm, I wanted to apologize to you. I shouldn't have pressed the subject. I, it's just the way I raised, religion is a big part of my life, I've never actually met someone who doesn't practice at least something. But I understand now,"

"Don't apologize for what you believe in Blaine. If "God" is what you want to set your focuses on -"

"No, let me finish please," Blaine interrupts firmly, lifting his hand. "I'm not apologizing for my faith. I'm apologizing for not taking the time to understand _you_. Kurt, I have never known anyone like you. You're... you're special and you're my friend. And I care about my friends. Which mean that I care about you and I don't want to screw this up,"

Kurt is averting his gaze, blue eyes wide, almost glassy and noticeable lighter, no entirely shrouded by that stoic splays of darkness. He seems to be trying to say something, but he remains silent, only exhaling sharply once.

"So, um aren't your Sectionals coming up soon?" Kurt inquires suddenly.

"Oh, um yea, they are, the invitational went great. You were right about the Beatles, well, I don't exactly us a Beatles song I -"

"_Silly Love Songs _right?" Kurt asks playfully.

"Yea...wait...how did you?"

"I didn't see the whole set but, I saw your solo," Kurt confesses, smirking softly. "I was really proud of you,"

Blaine blinks incessantly for a moment, trying to process the fact that Kurt had actually been there, sitting in that audience. "I hope so," Blaine says softly, almost in awe, then whispers quietly: "I want you to be,"

They sit in silence for moments that seem like a blissful eternity. Hazel eyes on blue. Seemingly, by some sort of magnetic force, Blaine's hand had crept somehow crept across the table and rested lightly on Kurt's wrist, swiping his thumb tenderly over the bruises.

Kurt breaks the silence, untangling their hands. "I need to get back to work," he says standing up. "Need to pick up my pay check, part of which is going toward purchasing Patti Lupone's new book,"

Blaine smiles. "It's a good read, apparently, at least according to Vogue,"

Kurt stops suddenly and turns around, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. "You read Vogue?"

"Occasionally," Blaine confesses flushing. "My mother leaves her subscription lying around the house sometimes,"

"Sure she does," Kurt teases in lewd manner.

"What! She does!" Blaine insists and Kurt continues to tease him ceaselessly

"Oh my god, stop it!" Blaine exclaims, half laughing, the tone of his raising in an upward cresendo

Kurt continues teasing Blaine until he's ordered a coffee and halfway through the door.

"I'll see you around Blaine,"

"Yea, See you,"

* * *

><p>"Are you ready for this?" Quinn asks as she paces back and forth at the theatre entrance.<p>

This was the moment the entire had been working toward; Sectionals. If they won here, they went to Regionals, then the club would be secure.

"Wait are you nervous?" Blaine asks, eyeing Quinn amusedly.

"Please don't judge me,"

"Don't worry," Blaine reassures her. "Because you and I, we're going to kill this thing,"

"_And now, from Westerville, Ohio, please welcome the Dalton/Crawford Inter School Choir,"_

"Break a leg," Blaine whispers, winking, opening the door, into the theatre

* * *

><p><em>Highway run<br>Into the midnight sun  
>Wheels go round and round<br>You're on my mind_

Quinn descends in after him on the opposite side, her voice soaring.

_Restless hearts  
>Sleep alone tonight<br>Sending all my love  
>Along the wire<em>

Their voices meshed together in perfect unison.

_They say that the road  
>Ain't no place to start a family<br>Right down the line  
>It's been you and me<br>And lovin' a music man  
>Ain't always what it's supposed to be<em>

_Oh, boy, you stand by me  
>I'm forever yours<br>Faithfully_

Blaine and Quinn run up the side stairs of the stage, the curtains rise and their team mates emerge from the wings, adjoining their harmonies.

_Whooa, oh-oh-ooh  
>Faithfully<br>Whooa, oh-oh-ooh, oh  
>I'm still yours<br>I'm still yours  
>Faithfully<em>

_Any way you want it  
>That's the way you need it<br>Any way you want it_

The entire crowd came to their feet in roaring cheers as the girls flipped and twirled through their ballet inspired choreography, the boys assisting them with intricate lifts_._

_She loves to laugh_  
><em>She loves to sing<em>  
><em>She does everything<em>  
><em>She loves to move<em>  
><em>She loves to groove<em>  
><em>She loves the lovin' things<em>

_It won't be long yet, 'til you're alone_  
><em>When your lover, oh he hasn't come home<em>  
><em>'Cos he's lovin', ooh he's touchin', he's squeezin' another<em>

_Anyway you want it_

_That's the way you need it_

The music came to an exploding end, everyone lowered their heads and turned their backs to the audience on the final beat.

_Dadadadadadadada_

_Dadadadadadadada_

Jeff and Annalise took their leads, their voices blending as Jeff plucked at his electric guitar.

_Just a small town girl  
>Livin' in a lonely world<br>She took the midnight train goin' anywhere_

_Just a city boy_  
><em>Born and raised in south Detroit<em>  
><em>He took the midnight train goin' anywhere<em>

Blaine spun around on his queue for his verse, walking downstage. Quinn sauntering over beside him, face flushed from dancing, eyes beaming, the sound of her voice on that one line never failed to give chills. She really was beautiful, he thought.

_A singer in a smoky room  
>A smell of wine and cheap perfume<br>For a smile they can share the night  
>It goes on and on and on and on<br>..._

The audience was standing and clapping, even the judges bobbed their heads in their seats. Nick smiled knowingly at Blaine as Marissa belted out that final wail, they were going to win this.

_Don't stop believin'  
>Hold on to that feelin'<br>Streetlight people_

_Hold on to that feelin'_  
><em>Streetlight people<em>

_Don't stop_

* * *

><p>"<em>And in first place...the DaltonCrawford Inter School Choir!"_

* * *

><p>After Wes and Thad had lugged the immense first place trophy into the Senior Commons and placed it onto the desk, the party erupted into full swing.<p>

Annalise and Jeff had smuggled in some fruity champagne, music was blaring, Thad was doing some sort of drunkard like dance in the corner, muttering something incoherent. Marissa, Carly and Nick all giggling on the couch.

"Have you seen Blaine?" Quinn asks Heidi, the only seemingly sober person aside from herself. Quinn had heard the account of Blaine one and only time being drunk two summers ago at a party Nick's. From what she heard, Blaine really didn't need to be anywhere near alcohol for a very long time...

"I think I saw him slip into the hallway," answered Heidi, before averting her attentions to her drunken boyfriend.

"Thank you," Quinn replied, slinking out of the Commons, tip toeing down the hallway, when she heard Blaine's voice, he was clearly talking to someone.

She rounded the corner, toward the spiral stair case, and listened in the entrance way.

"It was absolutely incredible! I still can't believe we actually won!"

Blaine was sitting on the bottom step of the stair case, his blazer strewn off to the side, tie loose around his neck.

"No, you shut up...no _you_ shut up," Blaine snorted a laugh, and Quinn slowly backed away from the archway and back down the hallway. Who was Blaine talking to? And why did it make her feel uneasy, she sunk into one of the chairs in the corridors, contemplating the possibilities.

"You okay?" Quinn shot her head up, it was Blaine, his blazer tossed over his shoulder.

"Yes, I'm just tired," Quinn replied quickly.

"Do you want me to take you home?" Blaine asks, offering Quinn his arm.

She smiles through her uneasiness and accepts it. "Yes, that would be much appreciated,"

* * *

><p><em>Quinn walks down the deserted, twisting hallways of Dalton, the tiled floor is frozen against her bare feet, she shivers, her breath fogs in the air. The school is seemingly abandoned, there are cob webs lining the ceiling and walls, dust on the sheets that cover the furniture. <em>

_ She continues walking, seemingly in circles on the first floor, when she hears something, it seemed to be music, as she walked further, the melody became distinctly familiar, it's soft and delicate, something she's probably heard over and over but she couldn't quite place it._

_ Then, she smelt it, the unmistakable stench of smoke, Quinn began to walk quicker, rounding the corner to study hall. The giant oak doors were shut, billows of grey smoke coming out through the crack._

_ Quinn presses her hand against experimentally against the door, she flinches at the burning sear. _

_ She leans in closer to the door, she hears voices. Gathering all the strength she had, Quinn kicked the doors open, the red and orange luminescent flames are unveiled, slowly melting away at the wooden walls and illustrious paintings that line them._

_ All the tables are strewn out of the way, and the melody is louder; violins being strummed somewhere. And in the midst of the smoke and flames are two figures, holding each other, swaying back and forth in the center of the room. Whispering to each other._

"One hand, one heart,"

_ Their bodies are pressed together as close as humanly possible, the face of the taller one hidden, as his back is turned toward her, his long pale sinewy arms are wrapped around the neck of the shorter one. Suddenly their bodies turn, and the other figure it revealed._

Blaine.

_ Blaine's arms are tightly wrapped around the waist of the other figure, face resting in the crook of their neck. Eyes closed, a serene bliss painted on his face._

_ Quinn shouts for Blaine to get out, yet, she opens her mouth, and voice seems to be gone._

_ Suddenly a swift force is moving her backward done the hallway, away from the room. Quinn tries to scream and squirm away, run back to the study hall, but the force is too strong and she continue to be carried away._

_ In the distance, the smoke continues to grow mountainously, scorching flames reaching their peak. The double doors slam shut, enclosing Blaine and the other person; still too wrapped up in one another to pay notice and the doors burst into flames._

"Even death won't part us now,"

* * *

><p>Quinn wakes up with a piercing shriek, throws the blankets off her body and lunges toward the bathroom, and splashes cold water on her face. She catches her breath, still shaking and wanders back to her bedroom. Her alarm clock read 4 am.<p>

Unable to return to sleep, Quinn goes toward the window and throws open the yellow curtains, to reveal the first snow of the season coating her front yard.

As she slinks back to her bed, hoping to get a few more hours of sleep before church, she feels something under her foot. Quinn groggily bends over and picks it up...Quinn narrows her eyes in confusion, she could have sworn she left her _West Side Story _record in her closet three days ago?


	18. Chapter 18

**Warning/Triggers:** light smut both MxF and MxM, violence, blood, internal homophobia, self-hate, slight dub-con? (blink and you'll miss it)

**A/N: **Pay mind to the warnings, this story is not fluff and rainbows. Also! A big thank you to all the alerts, favourites and reviews! I appreiciate it and hope you're enjoying the fic so far! There will probably be a about 32 chapters in total.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the original dialogue from the show or the characters, or anything like that, that belongs to Ryan Murphey, Brad Falchuck and Ian Brennen. I'm just borrowing them for my own twisted pruposes.

* * *

><p>Chapter 18<p>

Blaine creeps down the hallway of Harding Middle School; he can hear remnants of blaring music from the stage door. He opens it just enough so it won't creak and skips the second step; it makes a strange noise when you step on the middle of it. He stands in the wings of the musty curtains and watches the incredible sight before him.

In all the time he's known Kurt Hummel and even with everything he does know about him, Blaine had yet to see him dance. And when he thinks back to every conversation they've ever had, Kurt was in no way exaggerating when he said that he had been considered some sort of child prodigy. The way his body moved to the classical melody was hypnotizing.

Blaine suddenly realized where all that hidden strength was from; the contours of his muscles accentuated by the tight fitting clothing. His jumps were easily several feet in the air, mile long bare legs kicking up to his ear and turns that seemed to go on for an eternity. Yet, in all the masculine power Kurt contained, his gracefulness was unmistakable. His arms and upper body contained an almost feminine grace as Kurt floated about the stage. Blaine admired Kurt's perfect form as he arched his back, emphasizing his well defined abs, exposing the pale expanse of his long elegant neck. Blaine feels his eyes sting slightly; he's never seen anything quite so extraordinary, so simply beautiful as Kurt moving his body so effortlessly.

The music comes to a fading stop, and Kurt catches his breath.

"Hey," Blaine greets, exposing his presence.

Kurt spins around quickly, blue eyes wide. "Jeez Blaine, you scared me,"

Blaine smirks. "Good," he teases, his arms set in a mockingly ghostly manner. "Because I'm actually Marley's ghost, and I'm here to tell you to stop working so hard,"

Kurt snorts. "Ah, I see. What's with the cassette tape?" Kurt asks referring to the small box in Blaine's hand.

"I need you to sing with me," Blaine confesses. "Well, rehearse with me, I got a gig singing _Baby It's Cold Outside _at the annual _King's Island Christmas Spectacular,"_

Blaine would have been practicing with Quinn, his selected partner for the number at the country club show, but she was going to be in West Virginia for the holidays the day before the show, and Blaine probably wouldn't know her replacement until a few hours before. When considering who to rehearse with, the first person that came to his mind had been Kurt of course.

"Ah, a personal favourite, but Blaine, you know that I shouldn't,"

"Please Kurt," Blaine whines. "No one's here and you should at least give me the satisfaction in my assumptions that _you_ are a lot better than that girl is going to be,"

"Flattery will get you nowhere Anderson," Kurt says mockingly, fluttering his eyelashes.

"So, are you going to help me out here?" Blaine suggest, cocking up at eyebrow playfully.

"Just this once..." Kurt gives in, smirking mischievously.

"Very good then," Blaine inserts the tape into Kurt's boom box and let's it play. As the introduction plays Blaine jokingly did a little spin, causing Kurt to smirk and mumble something about being horrendously cheesy.

Blaine did the lyric by lyric actions he had originally been planning, and Kurt snort a laugh at him, yet played along, letting Blaine chase him across the stage and even began to get into his part.

_I really can't stay – but Baby it's cold outside  
>I've got to go away – but Baby it's cold outside<br>This evening has been - Been hoping that you'd drop in_

Blaine let himself touch Kurt's hand, and Kurt doesn't shy away, letting Blaine leading him across the floor.

_So very nice - I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice_

The lights were hitting Kurt's face a peculiar way, his cheeks were rosy, and Blaine notices just how long his eyelashes are, and the details of his bone structure. The sweet, but musky scent of his cologne and something that was entirely Kurt

_My mother will start to worry - Beautiful, what's your hurry  
>My father will be pacing the floor - Listen to the fireplace roar<br>So really I'd better scurry - Beautiful, please don't hurry  
>But maybe just a half a drink more - Put some records on while I pour<em>

. Blaine couldn't keep his off him as fluttering around the stage a seemingly flirtatious manner. Clearly he was just playing his part well; Blaine thought to himself, Kurt was an actor after all.

_The neighbours might faint - Baby, it's bad out there  
>Say, what's in this drink - No cabs to be had out there<br>I wish I knew how - Your eyes are like starlight now  
>To break the spell - I'll take your hat, your hair looks swell<em>

Blaine shuffles closer to Kurt, their shoulders pressing closely for a moment, until Kurt suddenly steals away and winks at him.

_I ought to say no, no, no, sir - Mind if I move closer  
>At least I'm gonna say that I tried - What's the sense in hurting my pride?<br>I really can't stay - Baby don't hold out  
>Ohh, but it's cold outside<em>

Blaine finally dares to stare into Kurt's eyes, there something notably different about them, they're lighter than he's ever seem them, almost turquoise, flecked with green, the seeming darkness that shrouded them, was nowhere to be seen, replaced with a glowing brightness that was no less hypnotizing.

_I simply must go - Baby, it's cold outside  
>The answer is no – But baby, it's cold outside<br>This welcome has been – how lucky that you dropped in  
>So nice and warm - Look out the window at that storm<em>

As he sang the lyrics, Blaine caught notice of Kurt's lips, pink and perfectly shaped; he wondered what they would feel like if he touched them...

_My sister will be suspicious - Gosh, your lips look delicious_

"_Oh, your lips are delicious_," Blaine whispers under his breath

It's not until Kurt is looking at him strangely, that Blaine resumes his attention, because he's completely blanked and missed some lyrics. Blaine blushes and carries on.

_But maybe just a cigarette more - Never such a blizzard before_

_I've got to go home -but, baby, you'd freeze out there  
>Say, lend me a coat - It's up to your knees out there<br>You've really been grand - I thrill when you touch my hand_

The atmosphere has gone from exceedingly playful to tense. Kurt is standing closer to him than ever, practically singing in his ear, Blaine's voice cracks and he's finding it harder to breathe.

_But don't you see - How can you do this thing to me?  
>There's bound to be talk tomorrow - Think of my life long sorrow<br>At least there will be plenty implied - If you caught pneumonia and died  
>I really can't stay - Get over that hold out<br>Ohh, but baby it's cold outside  
><em>

By the end of the song, Blaine and Kurt are standing almost as close as humanly possible, only a few inches separating their noses, breathing deeply, pupils dilated, and cheeks flushed. Blaine inhales sharply, his hands are shaking, Kurt licks his lips, tainting them a deep pink, Blaine swallows, Kurt's scent ensnaring him. Sweat begins to trickle down the side of his face.

"You can kiss me," Kurt whispers carefully in his ear. "If you want to,"

Blaine's lips part, Kurt is standing before him, the flush on his cheeks contrasting with his porcelain skin, blue eyes deeper and brighter than ever, hair messy, in that moment, Blaine thinks he looks like an angel.

'_Doesn't he always though,' Blaine's conscience whispers. He's beautiful, don't you want to Blaine,"_

_ He is beautiful... _"I want to," Blaine affirms, not recognizing his own voice and he swallows thickly.

Kurt's lips are just as he imagined, soft and velvety against as he gently places their lips together. The first brush of contact causes Blaine to inhale deeply at the thousands of electric jolts coursing through his body. Blaine feels the loss of his own control as he lets Kurt's tongue enter his mouth, lapping against his own tentatively; it tastes sweet, a little salty and incredibly right.

Blaine feels Kurt's arms slither around his waist and back, pulling him even closer, hitting their groins together, Blaine moans at the sudden contact, wrapping his own arms around Kurt's strong, slim shoulder, his hips bucking up at their own accord. Kurt breaks their lips suddenly, only to arch his neck back and moan what sounded like a mixture of "Blaine" and "more"

Suddenly Kurt's lips are latched on his jaw and Blaine moans himself, as Kurt bites and nips his way down the column of his neck, Blaine throws his head back, shutting his eyes in ecstasy.

_"Kurt,"_ Blaine moans, whispering, gripping Kurt's shoulders tighter.

Blaine's eyes suddenly snap open, his body tenses, he's incredibly aware of the pulsing feeling that is pooling at his groin.

"What's wrong?" Kurt asks softly, running one hand up Blaine's chest the other latched to his waist, rubbing his nose against Blaine's cheek.

"I, I can't do this," Blaine begins stammering, stepping away from Kurt. "I can't, I, I, I have a girlfriend. And, and I'm normal. I'm normal now, I'm fixed, I'm normal. I'm, I'm better now, I can't. This isn't happening. I don't feel this way anymore,"

"What are talking about Blaine?" Kurt asks, stepping toward him, placing his hand on Blaine's neck.

"I'm not a homosexual. I'm not like you. I'm normal, I'm better," Blaine continues wriggling away from Kurt's touching, muttering and pacing sharply.

Blaine looks utterly horrified when Kurt chuckles. "Please Blaine; you're about as straight as the hair on your head,"

"No, no you're wrong, I'm normal," his voice is sharper, louder, almost shouting.

"Look, I'm not one for stereotypes, but Blaine, you read Vogue; watch musicals, idolize Carey Grant. And don't even get me started on us. I mean let's be real here, we hang out, sing flirty duets, you know my coffee order. Was I supposed to think that was just nothing Blaine?"

The darkness has resurfaced in Kurt's now steely and glassy eyes, his body is shaking with frustration.

"I'm, I'm so sorry Kurt, I just can't. I'm, I'm so scared. Please Kurt, I can't, I'm better," Blaine runs his hands through his hair roughly; he can feel the hot tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. "Please don't make me feel this way," he whispers.

Kurt's eyes and his stance soften and he approaches Blaine, who's shaking and on the verge of losing any of the minimal control he has left. "I understand how hard this is to deal with, please Blaine," Kurt cups Blaine's cheek, staring him in the eye. "Please let me help you,"

Blaine removes Kurt's soft hand from his cheek, fighting the sudden coldness, emptiness he feels without it there. "I can't, I can't..."

Blaine starts walking backward toward the stairs. "I'm sorry," he whispers before turning around and running, ignoring Kurt's desperate pleas:

"Blaine!"

* * *

><p>Blaine drives as fast as the interstate will allow him, until he's speeding past the Westerville welcome sign and toward his subdivision, but instead of taking a right on Bush Drive he takes a left onto Washington street, pull up at house 25 and rings the door bell.<p>

"Oh hello Blaine dear!" Judy Fabray exclaims cheerily. "Are you here to see Quinnie?"

"Yes ma'am, if that's alright," Blaine hopes she can't tell the shaking in his voice.

"Of course not, she's just upstairs, I was just heading out, tell her will you,"

"Yes, ma'am, thank you," Blaine mumbles and dashes up the stairs.

He slams open the door to Quinn's room, and slams it closed behind him.

"Blaine?" Quinn says surprised. "This is a surprise...I wasn't -"

Blaine doesn't respond, instead he surges forward and attacks her lips, forcing his tongue entrance. Quinn gives a soft breathy moan and Blaine pulls back immediately. Her pupils are dilated, she's breathing heavily.

_Just like Kurt._

"What was that for?" She asks hesitantly, her lip quivering.

"I want you, I want you so bad," Blaine whispers, his voice cracking.

She kisses him again, and lowers herself onto her bed, she gazes up at Blaine, who's standing at the edge of the bed and bites her lip. Blaine surges forward, settling himself on top of her, kissing her roughly. And like he does so very often; Blaine pretends.

He pretends that Quinn's soft delicate hands are stronger than they appear as she pulls his body closer. He pretends that her slender legs wrapping around his waist are hard and muscular. He pretends that her long golden tresses don't tangle annoyingly in his fingers. He pretends that her breasts aren't rubbing stubbornly against his own chest.

He pretends, just like he always has, and probably always will.

* * *

><p>As soon as Blaine pulls into the driveway and goes through the front door, he shrugs off Rosa the maid, telling her that he was busy and runs up to his room and slams the door. He paces sharply for a few moments, running his hands through his hair, breathing heavily. Erotic images from only hours before haunting his mind, his conscience spewing and whispering the same word over and over<p>

_Kurt, Kurt, Kurt, Kurt._

The room was suddenly hot and stuffy and Blaine roughly shrugs off his sweater and t-shirt, throwing them to the floor and continues to pace. His frustrations heightening, he can't even blink without seeing it; that long pale neck, those deep haunting blue eyes.

Blaine nearly growls throwing his arms about, pushing all of the books and papers off his desk, then his keyboard. The one piece of sheet music reading: _The Staircase_, staring at him mockingly, he crumples it up throwing it at the wall, next to wear the crucifix he was given at camp a few summers ago was displayed, almost as if to scorn him.

The cross the lay across his neck suddenly seemed heavy and cold, like the struggles of the world had been thrust upon his shoulders. With shaking hands Blaine rips it off his neck and throws it toward the wall violently, is bounces off the wooden crucifix, slanting it. He winces as the gold chain cuts his neck. He quickly goes to the mirror and is taken aback by his appearance.

The usually gelled back hair had been released; his natural messy curls beginning to appear, he pulled angrily at them.

_"Please Blaine; you're about as straight as the hair on your head,"_

His golden hazel eyes darkened to a deep amber. And resting stubbornly on place where his jaw and neck met was a small series of red/purple bruises and faint teeth marks.

_Kurt bites and nips his way down the column of his neck, Blaine throws his head back, shutting his eyes in ecstasy._

Blaine's entire body begins to tremble uncontrollably; he forms his hands into tight fists and pierces a gruff scream as he punches the mirror over and over again, shards of glass falling to the floor, cutting his knuckles.

Screams subside and Blaine lets his body give and collapses to the floor, blooding dripping down his hand onto the shards of broken glass. His lips quiver and uncontrollably and Blaine gives in to the angry heat in his throat and the hot tears welling in the corners of his eyes and for the first time in years; he weeps.


	19. Chapter 19

**Trigger/Warnings:** substance abuse, self harm, homophobia

* * *

><p>Chapter 19<p>

For Blaine the Christmas season passes by in its familiar blur of stuffy, posh social gatherings, Christmas masses and formal dinner parties. His parents surveying his every move as he socializes with business associates of the family firm, the usual whispers insulting his mother and sometimes himself. He desperately wishes Quinn were there and not visiting her grandparents in West Virginia, her company would have made the functions slightly more tolerable with her dry remarks.

Although Blaine has never known a different type of Christmas, without formal parties, champagne and church functions. He's never quite experienced the kind of Christmas that movies portray as the norm; where families sit at home in their pyjamas opening presents by the fire, drinking hot chocolate. At least as a little boy he always had the joy of Santa Claus' sleigh arriving on his roof, coming down the chimney and leaving him presents.

Exactly eight Christmases ago, when Blaine was just nine years old, what seemed to be insignificant, set the motion for the harrows of what was to come.

_He remembered hearing a ruckus downstairs at around midnight; he had stayed up late to see if he could catch a glimpse of the man in the red suit. But when he crept out of bed and down the stairs all he could hear and see were his parents speaking harshly to each other, almost screaming._

_ "You can't give him this Maria, have you lost your mind! I thought we agreed to end this behaviour once and for all,"_

_ "Oh, Kevin, you should have read his letter, seen his face when he told me what he wanted,"_

_ "It doesn't matter what he wants, we're his parents, and we will decide what is best for him and his future!"_

_ "He's your son Kevin! Your only son. Don't you want him to remember a happy childhood. It's most likely just a phase, let him grow out of it,"_

_ "You're right Maria, Blaine is my only son. And I will not have my only son grow up to be a fairy!"_

_ In that moment, hidden behind the white pillar in the foyer, Blaine realized that Santa Claus was most definitely not real. Yet, in spite of what should have been one of the most traumatic realizations for a relatively sensitive nine-year old boy, Blaine didn't understand what his father was so scared of. According to his mother's stories; fairies were beautiful, they had wings and pretty singing voices and usually covered in glitter. Blaine thought that he would very much like to be a fairy. That and the Disney Princess sing a long video he had asked for in his Santa letter._

_ Blaine got a football for Christmas that year. His father beams proudly, sipping his whisky talking about little league registration for the spring. Blaine pouted at his mother discreetly and she nodded sympathetically, gazing at him with her warm brown eyes. Later that night, she promised to buy him the new Broadway Classics sheet music from the Music store. Blaine nodded and thanked her quietly, he was grateful, but he didn't understand why he couldn't get what he wanted._

* * *

><p>Blaine lay on his bed, eyes shut, muscles sore, soaked curls plaster to his forehead, old football clenched in his hands. It had been nearly eight years since he last touched the gift of his father's. The last time in fact had been at his first and last football game. In comparison to the other boys' beefy giant like shape, Blaine's small stocky stature had been no match. Kevin Anderson had been thoroughly disappointed that his son wouldn't be a star quarterback, as he had been. Blaine on the other hand had been more than content to never set foot on a football field again.<p>

He turned to other sports, one which involved a certain less risk of him getting brutally tackled by a two hundred pound line backer. Blaine found serenity in boxing and fencing; gentlemen sports his mother called them. They kept him fit, released the inexplicable tension that began to course through his vein, when he turned thirteen. When he reached middle school, he met Jeff, a crude scholarship student, who introduced him to the world of lacrosse.

Despite his aversion to playing football, Blaine quite enjoyed watching it, when his father was home he would sit in front of the television on the living room, the game playing and he would wait until his father would finally drag his feet into the room with a glass of his favourite whisky and they would sit in silence watching it together. When the game was over, his father would give him a clap on the back and shuffle back into his office.

It wasn't much, but that one brief touch of affection seemed to mean that he was finally doing something right.

Lately, Blaine didn't seem to be doing anything right. He was going to hell, he was completely sure of it. Even vast amounts of utter solitude in prayer couldn't bring Blaine to feel even the slightest bit better. The shame smeared like black paint on his soul. He had seduced Quinn, forced her to fornicate with him when he knew perfectly well her stance on intimacy. He had felt so disgusted with himself at the sound of her soft drawn out moan that he had stumbled off of her, backing out of her bedroom.

Blaine shifted from his place; football rolling off the side of the bed, clanking to the floor, Blaine goes to pick it up when he catches sight of his mirror, covered with a grey sheet. The shards were long cleaned up, presumably by Rosa while he was at the gym, beating the punching bag violently, ignoring the sear of pain of the bare, raw and bloody knuckles collided with the rough material. The hot flash image of Kurt' soft lips against his neck...

_Kurt_

The simple thought of name made Blaine's blood boil with resentment for himself. He had ruined it. Not only his relationship with Quinn, but the one real friendship he ever had. Kurt who was all dry humour and sarcasm, who was witty and intelligent and wonderful. And Kurt who was the only person who had understood without a questioning glance.

Sure, his other friends were into music, were passionate about being in the Warblers, yet, Blaine knew that Jeff and Nick and Thad and all the others would never understand music they was he did. The feeling of a constant melodic pull coursing through his veins and the cathartic release as his fingers nimbly tickled the ivory keys of a piano or strummed the strings of a guitar. Kurt did, he fully understand, in the way he moved his body gracefully and bounded strong into jumps, or the way his voice soared angelically into a cadenza with ease.

That friendship, that bond, was severed swiftly because of one solitary false move. When Kurt had softly whispered in his ear if Blaine desired to kiss him, all Blaine would have had to have done was politely decline, because he wasn't like Kurt, he was a good Christian, he was better.

He should hate Kurt, for trying to seduce him, making him fornicate, arousing him. But Kurt had been so beautiful in the dim lighting, fey like powers and deep blue eyes hypnotizing him like a siren preying upon Odysseus.

But Blaine could never hate Kurt, beautiful, wonderful, melancholy Kurt. He was just lonely, Blaine told himself. Kurt had been overcome with loneliness, caught up in the invigorating rush of the song and the feelings he had to repress to protect his life. Blaine had merely given in to helping a friend whom he cared about more than he cared about himself.

That was all. A moment of weakness, triggered by sympathy.

New Years Eve night was usually one of celebration in the Anderson household, the drawing-room filled to the brim with guests sipping on champagne, awaiting the countdown to the new year in style. This year however, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson had been invited to a business party out-of-state, and somehow, Maria convinced Kevin to allow their son to stay alone for the week, celebrate with his friends.

Blaine had been more than grateful. The last place he wanted to go to was a black tie business dinner. Blaine usually basked in the prospect of playing the perfect son, representing the perfect family whilst charming his parents' acquaintances. This year however, Blaine was in no mood to be socializing, all he felt like doing was crawling up in his room, catching up the homework he'd been slacking on and working on the choir's regional set list, while watching a New Year's Countdown special on mute.

When the New Year rung in, the figures on the television shouting mutely, Blaine downed a glass of sparkling cider, answered Quinn's text message and curled up in bed, praying that the New Year would ring in a little brighter this time around.

* * *

><p><em>RING<em>

_RING_

_RING_

Blaine's eyes shot open in the dark, he glanced quickly to the clock on his bed side table; 2:13 am. He rustled out from under the comforter and grabbed his blaring cell phone. He checked the caller ID screen and his heart began to hammer:

_Kurt Hummel_

Blaine swallowed and answered the phone.

"Hello?" he says, rubbing his eye with a free hand, getting out of bed.

"Hello? This Blaine Anderson?" The voice from the other line is gruff and raspy, and most certainly not Kurt.

"Yes...who's speaking?" Blaine asks as he turns on the light and begins to pace across his room. "Where's Kurt?"

"Chad Wilson, I own Scandals, off the east interstate. You friends with this er..Kurt you say his name was, tall, pale bitch with a potty mouth?"

"Don't talk about him that way," Blaine snapped through clenched teeth. "What about him, and why do you have his phone,"

"Kid left it on the bar top, bought a whole bottle of Jack Daniels and locked himself up in the bathroom, I think he's having some sort spaz attack or something, some guy came onto him and he started going ballistic. I woulda called the cops, but it's New Years and all, and I'm serving some minors. So I called the first number on his speed dial that be you man,"

Blaine doesn't respond.

"Ya think you could come pick 'im up, he's bad for business, and I don't want any more trouble,"

"Yea, yea sure," Blaine replies. "What your address?"

Blaine drives as fast as he can down the interstate without risking being pulled over by the police. His mind is numb while as goes through the mechanics of driving as he tries to read the scrawled directions to _Scandals _in the dark, except for Kurt. Kurt is on Blaine's mind, his face etched into his memory, the sound of his light timbre shouting Blaine's name desperately when Blaine has run cowardly out of the auditorium.

Scandals, despite its name and the purpose of its establishment are not in the least bit scandalous. When Blaine enters, the man from the phone earlier, Chad approaches him.

"Where is he? Where's Kurt?" Blaine asks him immediately.

"In the washroom," Chad replies, pointing to the back, where there is line up of men outside of a wooden door, man of them seem furious, cursing that they need to used the toilet.

Blaine pushes his way through the crowd, while stuffing Kurt's cell phone in his pocket. He bangs on the wooden door.

"Kurt!" he shouts, when he presses his ear against the door he can hear the water running. "Kurt I know you're in there, it's Blaine, please come out,"

"Go 'way," Kurt yells, his curse is deeply slurred, he must be drunk.

"Kurt, please open the door," Blaine bangs his fist on the door, the loud music from the bar pounding in his ears. "Please, Kurt. I know you're upset, come out here so we can talk about it,"

Blaine strains his ear and presses it harder against the door. He hears faint incoherent mumbling and some shuffling.

"Kurt?"

There is silence except for the strong thumping of the dubstep music coming from the dance floor.

"Kurt...?"

Suddenly there is a shattering sound of glass and something thuds hard to the floor.

"Kurt! Kurt!" Blaine is punching the door hard, screaming Kurt's name. "Kurt open the door!"

Blaine slams his body against the door over and over. "Kurt! Please. Please open the door,"

Silence.

Blaine take a few steps back and runs toward the door slamming himself against it again, but it doesn't budge. Taking in a deep breath, Blaine steps back and kicks forcefully at the door, breaking off the doorknob and the bathroom door opens wide.

The lights flicker, the mirror above the sink if cracked, a glass whisky bottle shattered on the floor, a few drops of amber liquid pooling on the musty tiles and Kurt Hummel, hunched in a corner, his eyes are lidded heavily, hair in a disarray, leather jacket strewn on the floor beside him.

A rough piece of glass cutting across Kurt's pale already slashed wrist, blood oozing and bubbling out from the fresh-cut, running up his arm.

"Kurt!" Blaine screams, running toward the boy hunched in the corner awkwardly, glass crunching under his feet.

Blaine is by Kurt's side in an instant, huddling close to him, wrapping his hand around Kurt's bleeding wrist, putting as much pressure on it as possible. He notices the long line of thin, long red scars scattered across Kurt's arms, some of them faded, others still angry and bright and the palm of his hand cut open from the shard of glass.

"Blaine?" Kurt breathes hoarsely his voice slurred slightly, eyes lidded heavily.

"I'm here, Kurt, I'm here," Blaine says, his voice thickening gripping Kurt's limp body tighter in his arms.

"Leave me 'lone Blaine. ," Kurt slurs, his breath stinks slightly of alcohol his head dropping against Blaine's arm.

"No I'm not leaving you alone, not again," Blaine can feel the tears beginning to fall freely down his face, he continues to clutch at Kurt wrist that is still sopping with blood. "Help! Somebody help! He's hurt!"

"No, let me sleep Blaine," Kurt's voice is getting fainter , eyes continuing to open and close lazily. "Jus' wanna die, please Blaine. Jus' wanna die,"

"No, no, that's not true, please Kurt, stay with me, stay with me. Don't close your eyes, please don't close your eyes," Blaine looks toward the wide open door, the music is still glaring inside the bar. "Help! Anybody! He's bleeding!"

"Blaine," Kurt whispers softly, blue eyes closing shut.

"Kurt! No, no, no, no, no. Help! Somebody help!" Blaine immediately, checks Kurt's pulse; it's steady, but slow. "Kurt, stay with me, please Kurt, please I'm so sorry, please. Help!" Blaine tries shaking Kurt awake, but he merely makes a protesting noise, as if someone were trying to wake him from a deep slumber. "Don't you die on me. Kurt wake up. WAKE UP!"

Blaine, rips a piece of his t-shirt and wraps it tightly around Kurt's bleeding wrist, then scoops Kurt's body up into his arms – he's lighter than he seems - carries him out into the bar.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" Blaine screeches, trying to get the attention of the oblivious patrons, who all seem to be under the influence of some sort of narcotic. "Someone call 9-1-1!"

Blaine catches sight, of Chad; the bar manager. "Please, you need to call 9-1-1, he's bleeding,"

"Holy shit!" Chad raises his voice. "Leave it to the stupid faggot to get his fucking dirty blood all over my floors,

"What are you talking about, he needs an ambulance and you're angry about your floor. If I don't take him to a hospital, he'll die!" Kurt shifts lazily in Blaine's arms and Blaine glances down at him frantically.

Chad barks a laugh. "Take him to a hospital! You're a fucking retard kid. You're friend here is stuffed full of acid and booze. Taking him to a hospital is a one way ticket to juvie or the psycho house. If I were you, I'd leave him on the side of the road. He's a dirty faggot anyways, if the drugs won't kill him, then the AIDS will,"

Blaine glares at the scruffy bearded man, he's tempted to screech a long line of profanities at him, but Kurt shifts slightly again, his eyes fluttering open, pupils wide and he murmurs something incoherent.

"Fine, if you won't help me, I'll do it myself!" Blaine shouts over the thumping music, and strides out of the bar, adjusting Kurt's body weight in his arms, carrying him out to his car.

"You're fucking crazy kid!" Chad yells after him, but Blaine is already out of the door.

Blaine speeds down the interstate, no longer giving a damn if the cops pull him over, he glance in the rear-view mirror; Kurt is lain down across the backseat, his fast ghostly pale, eyes barely opened, breathing sharply and slowly.

They'll be at the hospital soon – his GPS guiding them toward _St. Teresa's Medical Center. _Blaine pulls up in front of the emergency door, swerving to a stop, jumps out of the car and pulls Kurt out of the back seat and into his arms.

As soon as he runs into the hospital, cautiously pleading for help, a nurse blankly tells him to fill out a form and holding out a clip board with a think document and starts asking him a long series of questions and to take a number.

He's completely baffled by the questions about insurance numbers, drug allergies and other personal questions that he's sure even Kurt wouldn't know how to answer. Blaine looks down to Kurt, half conscious in his arms, Kurt's hands gripping lightly at his neck. He gives the monotony nurse, one last look before backing away from her and running back to his car. He places Kurt back into the back seat carefully, brushing a piece of hair out of his forehead.

By the time Blaine pulls into his driveway it's nearly 3:30 am, he carefully scoops Kurt out of his car, he's slightly more awake at this point, the make shift bandage on his wrist soaked through and nearly black with dried blood.

The house is warm, dark and smells like expensive potpourri. Blaine lifts Kurt over his shoulder and carries him up the stairs to his room, settling him on the bed.

"I'll be right back," Blaine runs into the bathroom and returns with the first aid kit.

He slowly cuts the tightly tied material off of Kurt's wrist, the bleeding seems to have stopped, but the cut is still gaping slightly and angry, blood dried black.

"I'm so sorry, this might hurt a bit," Blaine says stroking Rhys' hair comfortingly.

Kurt shifts slightly, he's now somewhat conscious; his voice is coarse and raspy, a cold sweat on his forehead. "I think I can take it,"

Blaine pads the cut with alcohol, and Kurt bites his lips to sustain a groan. The cuts are wrapped in gauzes and taped up.

"Why did you help me?" Blaine's eyes dart up to meet Kurt's dilated blue ones, his voice is still raspy, sentence slightly slurred.

Blaine narrows his eyes in puzzlement. "Because you're my friend..."

Kurt begins to sit up against the pillows. "I don't want your help," Even in his haziness Kurt's wit is still as cold as ice; he begins to slide off the bed, standing up, his legs still shaking. It's not too long before he's clutching on to the dresser to keep himself from falling.

"Kurt, you need to rest," Blaine implores, wrapping an arm around him, ushering him back to the bed.

Kurt is shaking, teeth chattering, cold sweat begin to formulate on his face.

_You're friend here is stuffed full of acid and booze._

"Kurt...did you, did you take any drugs?"

"I don't know," Kurt's voice is small and shaking, his face genuinely perplexing. "I think so, I...Just, just please don't take me to the hospital, please,"

"Shh," Blaine soothes, calming Kurt down, he's becoming slightly hysterical, speaking rapidly, incoherently. "I'll get you some water, stay here,"

Kurt replies by shaking his head and getting to his feet. "I know how to take care of this. It's fine," He trudges to the bathroom door, and goes toward the toilet, lifting the seat up and kneeling in front of it. Blaine stands against the frame of the door, watching Kurt, his fingers going into his mouth.

"I'd rather you not watch me puke my guts out thanks," Kurt snaps, Blaine's eyes widen, not even realizing that he was staring, he mumbles an apology and closes the door, and returns to his bed.

Blaine shuts off the light and lies on his blue comforter in silence, shutting his eyes tight trying to tune out Kurt retching into the toilet bowl. The retching stops with a flush and the water from the sink began to run. The water stops, the door creaks open and Kurt slips out of the bathroom into Blaine pitch black bedroom, the only light streams dimly through a crack in the curtains. Kurt tiptoes across the floor toward the bedroom door.

"Please stay," Blaine whispers into the darkness. There is utter silence for a few long moments, then there is rustling, the sound of a zipper and a new mound of weight presses into the mattress.

Blaine stiffens as Kurt's body presses against his chest, fitting easily. He attempts to slowly push Kurt forward toward the other pillow; his body is frozen to the touch, goosebumps littering his smooth skin, teeth chattering. He pulls a blanket at the foot of the bed over top of them pulls Kurt closer to him, wrapping his arm around his slim waist, nestling his head on his shoulder, trying to radiate some heat to Kurt's frozen and shaking body.

The chattering came to a slow and Blaine tugs closer to him, Kurt still smelled like himself, musky, sweet and warm. Blaine inhaled deeply, Kurt's almost too long hair tickling his nose.

As Blaine's eyes began to drop close, drowsiness overcoming him he prayed, he prayed because somehow, Kurt was still there, safe and warm in his arms. He also made a mental note to thank his father for signing him up for boy scouts that year, he never thought any of the survival tactics would ever come in handy.

* * *

><p>The January snow furled gently in the light breeze as Quinn turned onto Bush Drive. Whilst unpacking her suitcase she realized that she never gave Blaine back his sheet music for the Christmas show at King's Island. She hadn't wanted to miss the show, but her parents had wanted to go back to Charleston for a few weeks.<p>

As the Anderson house came into view, Quinn felt the butterflies begin to flutter in her stomach. The last time she and Blaine had spoken...they hadn't really spoken. The mere memory of Blaine's body on top of hers, kissing her fiercely, made her stomach tingle and a flush spread across her cheeks. Quinn shook up head, the last thing she should be thinking of was those lustful thought, especially when she was so worried about Blaine. He had been so distant as of late, first the conversation about religion, then the mysterious phone call in the hallway, being busy after school almost every day and now the...sudden intimate encounter. In all honesty, she wasn't expecting Blaine to tell her everything, but she did not want him lying to her.

She pulled into the driveway next to Blaine's car and went to the front door and grabbed the spare key from inside the letterbox. The house was silent when she entered, everything sparkling and pristine just as she remembered it.

"Hello?" she called into the empty house peeking her head into the drawing-room and down the illustrious hallway.

No answer.

Quinn crept up the dark oak staircase to the second floor and padded down the hallway until she came to Blaine's shut white door, the doorknob tantalizing her. She reaches out and twists the knob in her hand, opening the door and pushing it open slowly.

Quinn gasps, the sheet music she had in her hand falling to the floor.

Blaine is curled up in his bed, sleeping soundly, and most definitely not alone. There, curled in his arms, fast asleep was another boy. He's very pale with shaggy dark hair splayed against the pillow. Blaine's arms are wrapped tightly around his slim waist, the boy's back pressed against Blaine's chest, legs tangled together; Blaine's clothed in a ratty pair of Dalton Lacrosse sweat pants and the other boy's completely bare; long pale and seemingly hairless.

Quinn couldn't breathe, she remained as still as stone, observing Blaine and the pale mystery boy sleeping wrapped up in their tender embrace. Simply the way their eyes were closed so gently, eye lashes wisped over the tops of their cheekbones, faces set with expressions of perfect serenity, an aura of intimacy radiated off them in waves. Almost as if the forces of the Earth was keeping them pressed together, like matching puzzle pieces slotting together for the first time.

Almost as if she were being drawn toward them, Quinn took a step forward. The mysterious boy, shifted ever so slightly, and Quinn caught her breath.

"Kurt?" she mouthed.

Could it be? Kurt Hummel? Memories launched in Quinn's mind like missiles. Guilt began to cloud over her. Did he remember her from all those years ago? Did he miss her? Perhaps he hated her. Lucy left him without as much as a goodbye, a phone call, even a simple letter. Lucy Caboosey disappeared, and Quinn Fabray had been born.

Quinn peered closer; puberty was doing Kurt well she noted. No longer an ounce of baby fat on him, he was slim, well-built, but he seemed gaunt and tired. Deep purple bags rest under his eyes. That's when she sees it. The white gauze wrapped around Kurt's right wrist and palm, a red stain soaking through.

Suddenly Blaine sighs in his sleep, and Quinn is reminded quite clearly of the situation. Any other girl would be screaming now, shrieking profanities, yet, Quinn can't bring herself to move or feel anything. She simply reaches for the blanket and gently pulls it over Blaine and Kurt's sleeping forms, freezing when they rustle slightly. She picks the sheet music off the floor and places it in a neat pile of Blaine's desk. With one last glance at their sleeping forms Quinn closes the bedroom door softly behind her, leaving the Anderson house getting in her car and not turning back.

Quinn drives in circles for an hour, the radio playing quietly, snow falling on her windshield. The unforeseen image of her boyfriend and past best friend wrapped in each other's arms so intimately. The poignancy of the memory pulled sharply in her gut, the mere thought of it felt as though she had interrupted something.

Swerving her car to a stop at the side of the road, Quinn takes of her seat belt and sinks in her seat, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

She should have known, she of all people should have known. The signs had been there. Streams of memories begin to pour in like a rainstorm, each obvious instance hitting her like a ton of bricks.

Quinn weeps, thick, heavy sobs that block her throat and make her nose run.

She weeps for Lucy.

She weeps for Kurt.

She weeps for Blaine.

And she weeps for herself.


End file.
